A Far Green Country
by SilasWhitfield
Summary: It has been ten years since the dark lord's tower was thrown down. The elves have all but vanished. The kingdoms of men jostle to regain former glory. A young horse thief rides for his life, a curious ring in his pocket that does not belong to him. In Imladris he meets an elf who decided to remain behind. His flight becomes their journey to the ends of middle earth... and beyond.
1. A Thief in Flight

The road that runs past Edoras cleaves to the White Mountains, running along beside them doggedly until they curve away to the southeast, past Helms Deep. It is a wide gravel lane, well maintained in most places.

As it went north, the land on either side of it changed. The endless steppes of Rohan receded into rolling plains aside the banks of the River Isen, and scattered stands of trees began to appear. On the right, Orthanc stuck up like a single jagged shard of onyx, its flanks still mottled black from the soot of the fires that had raged beneath it a decade ago.

Elden had no time to contemplate Isenguard. The thunder of hooves was close at hand, and his steed was growing tired. The black stallion had caught his eye at a trading post just north of Helms Deep. Something about the way he looked at him with his big brown eyes cried out to him that he wanted more from life than to be a stock pony or carthorse. He had not protested when Elden had caused a distraction and untied him, leading him away in the confusion.

The Eorlingas had not given up, however. Even now they were less than half a league away; close enough to hear the stamp of their steeds. They had chased him since Edoras, and it was only through luck and a liberal dose of magic that he had managed to avoid being run down by them. Elden had taken something from the Lord Regent Hassel, something that he was desperate to retrieve. He could feel it bouncing against his chest upon its thin chain. He could simply slip it on and dismount, he doubted Hassel had told his men what the ring was for fear one of them would take it for themselves, but he didn't want to abandon the horse.

It had been faithful to him thus far, and had needed no urging to continue riding until nightfall. They had made good time, thundering across the Isen bridge just as the sun was setting. Soon Isenguard was hidden by the southern end of the Misty Mountains. By that time the stallion's flanks were heaving, and Elden was dead tired as well. He waited until they got to the peak of the next hill and cast around for a place to hide, settling on a stand of trees and brush that grew in the space between two folds of the landscape. He quickly went north and back, making a false trail that lead up towards the foothills. With any luck they would think he had gone up onto the rock and shale to try and loose their trackers.

He doubled back along this trail, widening it, before moving towards the valley. He dismounted, unsheathed the short sword at his belt, and used it as a machete to hack away a space for him and the horse to lie down. The blade gleamed in the moonlight. It was of elvish make, another prize from the Lord Regent's horde. A small creek ran through the middle of the undergrowth and down the valley to a pond at the bottom. There would be no time to erect a more permanent shelter, and it would attract too much attention anyway. He tied the stallion to a tree, giving it plenty of length to lie down with. Then he laid down a blanket and sprawled out on it, pulling the folds of his hooded traveling cloak around him. It was a drab green and marred with dust and dirt from the road, perfect camouflage.

Despite relative comfort and momentary security, he lay awake, watching the stars wheel in their slow, silent dance. His stomach burbled fitfully, but he wasn't in the mood for more stale bread. He wished dearly that he had some mutton, but there had been no opportunity to hunt. A slightly crooked bow was slung across his pack. It wasn't the finest craftsmanship in Middle Earth, but he had hewn it with his own two hands and he knew all of its minor eccentricities.

The wind whipped overhead, whistling in the crack between two hillocks. It sounded like the hills were singing. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he must have, because it was still dark when he woke again.

Something was bothering the horse.

It was awake as well, its heavy breath misting in the night air, its hooves shifting the leaf litter. Elden crawled around to its muzzle and tried to soothe it. He could hear movement down by the stream, and he reached into his pocket and slipped the ring on. Instantly the grey rain curtain of the world fell back, belying the foundations of the earth. He could sense the sun just beneath the horizon, but it seemed pale and sickly. When he glanced towards the stream he could clearly see four goblins crouched beside it, piercing the algae film to take big, greedy gulps of the water. The ring caused their outlines to shift and shimmer, distorting their already hideous features.

Slowly, Elden reached over and retrieved his bow. From out of the quiver lashed to his pack he drew a single arrow. The head had three barbed blades, and the tail was fletched with hawk feathers. The string stretched back, taught. Elden selected his target carefully; the one closest to them, who was giving him a perfect side-view of his ugly skull.

He let the arrow fly with a hiss.

It struck the goblin right above its hairy, pointed ear, and the creature collapsed into the creek with a splash, dead before it hit the water. The three others stood in shock for a moment, and then turned tail and ran, tripping over roots and boulders. He waited a quarter of an hour or so, and then got up and walked softly over to the bank of the stream, his boots sinking into the mud slightly. He placed one heel against what was left of the creature's skull and prized his arrow from it. After it was put away in his quiver, he returned and hauled the body farther down the valley, to the edge of the tree line. The water was no good to drink anyway, but the smell of the corpse was already unpleasant. He imagined the ones who got away would be wishing he had killed them as well when the brackish water worked its way through their digestive tract.

The short bout of exercise did the trick, and as soon as he had lain down again he was asleep.

His dreams were dominated by vivid recollections of the pain in his wrists as he hung from the stockades in Edoras. It was night and all were asleep, including the guard assigned to watch him. His hands, already thin from hunger, had slipped through the holes in the wood like snakes. Not once did he consider fleeing the hold. Not yet.

His feet were clothed in rags, and they carried him silently down one empty lane and up the next, avoiding the infrequent watchman that trundled past, clutching at their shoulders and cursing the cold. Elden was heedless of the bitter wind. His hate kept him warm. Hatred of the Lord Regent, and the countless wrongs he had done him. The Regent's keep lay at the base of the great hill of Edoras. All around it had been built a multitude of new houses and stables, lodgings for the influx of refugees originally displaced by the wild men of the hills and Saruman's Uruk Hai.

Using a thatched roof nearby as a foothold, he scaled the tower, slipped into the Regent's bedchamber and stole the ring and sword from his dresser before departing with the ease and quiet of a wraith.

Except in his dream he didn't escape. When he swung his foot out of the tower, Edoras was ablaze, and the tower was collapsing into rubble with him inside of it.

The fire scorched the inside of his eyelids and he jerked awake. Golden sunlight was beaming down through the treetops, and the hills were alive with birdsong. He examined the underside of his wrist. The black mark of Mandos stared back, taunting him. But hadn't he taunted Mandos? Hadn't he tempted death on many occasions? There were only so many more times he could slip out of trouble before it caught up with him.

_Ah well, _he thought, _best to press on and bugger the consequences. The end will come when it will come, and not a moment before._

Comforted by this knowledge, he climbed the ridge to look for a sign of his pursuers. He found none.


	2. A Ring to Keep

The morning was cool and calm. A single cloud moved off across the blue dome of the sky, as if it had somewhere to be and was running late. Elden watched a raptor intently as it surfed through this great expanse, searching for prey. Soon, though, it came to the same conclusion he had: there was no game to be had. The bird banked and soared back up east, to the evergreens that dotted the base of the Misty Mountains and likely to its nest. He was lying on his elbows at the summit of a hill, casting around the landscape for answers. He didn't really know where he was going. It wasn't that he was lost; he simply didn't have a destination other than as far away from Edoras and the memories that placed contained as possible.

His mouth was full of leaves. Bitter and fibrous though they were, they would sustain him until he could find real food. Traps were out of the question because he was not staying, and he had not seen any warrens, despite keeping a careful watch of the ground. After being hunted by generations of clever Dunlendings, the Dunland variety of coney had grown equally clever in hiding their holes and their young. He hadn't seen a single tell-tale mound of dirt during his entire journey, let alone a floppy ear. At this point he would have taken a meadow vole. There were plenty of grubs in the soil and the trees, but he wasn't that desperate. Not yet.

A noise drifted on the edge of hearing. It was a subtle, almost imperceptible music. He reached down the front of his shirt and clutched the ring, bringing it out into the light of day.

The noise was louder, but still not enough to say he actually heard it.

It would whisper things to him, at times. These would be louder, actually audible utterances, but they would always occur when he was in the thick of something, and needed advice. He would always remember it afterwards, like a memory of something that happened to someone else.

_Take the sword. You will need it._

_The guard is sick. He will not notice you._

_Ride west. There is a valley that will shield you from their eyes._

It did not alarm him, because the advice was always good. Whenever he had the ring on, he always seemed to be able to find what he needed quickly, and tough scrapes always broke his way. The important things were more prominent, and the unimportant ones, less pressing. Still, he did not keep it on any more than he had to. It gave him the distinct impression that it wasn't something to be used trivially.

That, and whenever he put it on he felt like he could see through the entire world, down to the roots of the deepest mountain, a highly unsettling sensation.

He put the ring away and strode down the hill to the patch of trees where he had camped. The horse was up and grazing and he decided to give it more time considering all the work it had done for him yesterday. From a breast pocket he produced a pipe and lit its ashen contents with a fire-striker he had palmed at market in the Helm's Deep encampment. It had bothered him somewhat; the family that owned the stall was not rich, but his need had been greater than his restraint.

When the bowl was empty, he ashed it on the ground and untied the horse.

"You need a name." He said absentmindedly as he climbed back into the saddle.

A waft of smoke drifted up from the patch of grass that had received his ash, a single red cherry still burning.

"Smoke. That sounds good. You're quick and light on your feet. What do you think?"

Smoke had no reply beyond a gentle nicker.

"I will take that as a yes."

He proceeded north, up the Old South Road, keeping just off to the right so that he could track the roads progress, but also giving him the space to hide from travelers, which he did several times. The season for the trade caravans had long passed, but there were still groups of men on the road, most going south. Occasionally he would observe a lone traveler from his hiding places and wonder where he was going and what he carried. It would have been very easy to rob them, especially with the ring, but he didn't feel the need. The Eorlingas would be stopping travelers now that they had lost his trail, and a story about a highway robber who could turn invisible was the last thing he needed reaching their ears. With any luck, they would think he had faded away into the wild and turn back to Edoras and their waiting hearths.

He wondered briefly what that felt like, having a home and a family waiting for you.

The hills and valleys grew more prominent as he went. The bones of the earth stuck up from it in odd places, jagged spikes of rock and long steep cliffs where the dirt had been eroded away by uncounted ages of rain and wind. It was nestled in this scenery that he first spotted the village. He circled around it for an hour, watching closely for any sign of the Eorlingas, but there was none. He considered avoiding it altogether but hunger overpowered caution.

It wasn't much of a village, more like an encampment. The only permanent structure was a stable and a small dwelling, open to the air on two sides. A row of carcasses hung on hooks, their leather and claws in piles behind the counter. Elden dismounted his horse, feeling distinctly out of place. He could feel the eyes of the hill-folk boring into him even as they carried on their conversations or their work.

A group of rough characters were standing by the gate, smoking and jesting in harsh voices. Their attention turned immediately to him as he passed by.

"That's a fancy sticker, horse master," The ugliest among them said, his voice twisted with mockery. "Whose helpless corpse did you peel it from?"

There was a general shout of laughter at this, and several of the men moved to block him. Elden halted, reins in hand.

"Yours, if you don't move out of my way."

The retort didn't seem to faze the ugly one.

"That's right; slay the witless hill-folk for King Éomer like a good little boy!"

Several of the villagers had stopped work and were resting on their tools, watching.

"Éomer is no king of Rohan, and no king of mine. The Lord Regent rules the land while he rides to and fro with Elessar on endless campaigns of glory and conquest."

"Hey!"

The shout was from a girl not much older than him. She wore the furs of the hill-folk, and there was a fierce look in her eye which immediately caught the attention of the ruffians.

"Stop bothering travelers you worthless pile of worms! Do you want us to all die of hunger because we have no gold for planting when the spring comes? Begone! Or my father will have many words to speak with you."

This was apparently not an idle threat, as the group drifted away, grumbling and cursing the girl.

"Thank you." Elden said, sheepishly. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes I did." She replied. "They are cowards, but liquor and numbers make them bold."

"I suppose it would be rude of me not to buy some of your father's supplies now."

"Rude, and also unwise." She said, looking him up and down. "Your pack looks very light. Have you been on the road a while? Where are you going?"

"Only three days." He replied, careful to avoid mentioning the circumstances of his flight.

His feet followed her almost automatically, until she flitted behind the counter and he could follow her no more. His eyes traveled up to the hanging meat, and his stomach rumbled. A swarthy, bearded man emerged from the stable-half of the dwelling and set his beefy elbows on the counter, motioning his daughter away.

"What can I do for you, stranger?"

"How much is that?" Elden said, pointing to a whole torso of some animal he couldn't identify.

"Three silver."

Elden fished around in his pocket for a moment under the watchful gaze of the stable master. After much searching, he found that there were only two coins in his hand.

"Do you have anything… smaller?" He said.

The stable master laughed and reached underneath the counter, producing a brace of rabbits tied together with a length of rope.

"Two coins."

Elden slapped them down and slipped off his pack, setting it open on the counter. He began to untie the rope around the rabbit's necks and stuffed them one at a time into the sack, trying to conserve as much room as possible. Between them he placed a stretch of cloth to keep the moisture in until he could cook them properly.

"Had trouble hunting?" The stable master inquired as he shined the dirt from the coins with a corner of his bloody apron, only further marring them. "You Rohan folk are always looking after deer or boar, something you can hunt with a spear from horseback. In the hill country sometimes you have to think small, and look at your feet."

"Speaking of which," He continued, and Elden suspected that this had been his intention all along, "how much would you part with that horse for? I'll give you a whole gold piece for it."

Elden was stunned. He hadn't imagined Dunlendings possessed that kind of money. It was a kingly sum for a horse, even one so fine as his black stallion.

"That is more than a fair price, and I wish I could take it, but Smoke is not for sale."

A bemused smile played at the cracked corners of the man's mouth.

"Smoke? What kind of a name is that? I thought the men of the Riddermark named their horses after great kings!"

"Perhaps, but I name my horses by their fortune and character." He said, patting his horse's flank. "If you ever try to catch Smoke with your bare hands, you will see that he is aptly named."

"Are you looking for work, then?" The stable master's daughter said over the roar of laughter from her father.

"Always." Elden replied.

He wasn't really, but something about the girl had changed his mind.

"Work, eh?" The stable master said, sizing him up. "What kind of work has this regal lord of men done in his life?"

"I've chopped down my share of trees and plowed my share of furrow" Elden replied, somewhat defensively, placing the last of the rabbits into his pack and shutting it.

"I've no doubt you have, but I have no need of another pair of hands at the moment, and you…"

With a lightning quickness that Elden would have thought impossible for one of his stature, the man's arm snaked out and grasped his, turning it over in his iron grip. The mark of Mandos stared up at the sun. The swelling had gone down, leaving the tattoo with a bleached and lifeless appearance.

"…you are running from something. Whatever it is, it is villainous enough to warrant killing you. I don't need that kind of trouble."

He released Elden's arm. The girl's expression had changed. Where before she had regarded him with interest, even covetousness, now she looked at him with suspicion and fear. Elden knew that look.

"Whatever you are running from, lad, I suggest you keep going."

Elden nodded and shouldered his pack.

"I understand. Good tidings to you."

"And you."

He placed his boot in the stirrup and mounted Smoke before pressing his heels gently into the stallion's haunches. He did not need any spurs; the brief shock of cold leather against the horse's legs was enough. They left the village behind them in a cloud of dust. Elden looked back over his shoulder, past the billowing folds of his traveling cloak.

Five figures emerged from out of the flying dirt and spread out, as if to overtake him. They were only a few dozen paces away, but his steed outclassed theirs and he knew it. Leaning down against Smoke's flank, he whispered in his ear. They were words his father had taught him, and all horses seemed to know them, although they all responded with different degrees of willingness.

"_Noro lim!"_

These words combined with another gentle nudge to the flank spurred the horse on to a still faster pace. Ahead of them the Old South Road curved away to the northwest. Elden ignored its change in direction and continued off the side, into the bush. The trees were growing thicker now, and as he crested a ridge he caught sight of a mighty ribbon of water, one of the tributaries of the Greyflood, curling down from the fingers of the mountain to sprawl across his path. Perched on the far bank was an elven ruin, a silent guardian of the southern border of Eregion, a former kingdom of the fair-folk.

It was white as bone, the murals and adornments bleached dry by the trackless march of time. The great pillars that had once held up its mighty structure lay cracked and desiccated, smoothed by wind and broken apart by the wax and wane of many winter's worth of frost. A stone bridge that had once spanned the river was in a similar state of decay. Elden had no time to search for another route. He was committed.

The water was as cold as the distant ice caps that fed it, and by the time he was halfway through his toes were beginning to go numb. By the time he emerged on the other side, his pursuers had crested the ridge behind him and were racing towards the water. Smoke was still shivering and in no mood for a chase, but Elden urged him onward anyway. If he could just make it to the cover of the ruin, he would have a superior position from which to deal with his assailants.

In a well practiced maneuver, he put his full weight on one stirrup and swung his leg over Shadow's haunch while the beast was still in mid-gallop. He spun and hit the ground running, giving the horse's rear a hearty slap. It whinnied loudly and galloped on ahead through the maze of ancient stone, disappearing from sight. Elden clambered up the side of a pillar and leaped onto a ledge, the only remainder of a second floor that must have once commanded a view of the entire foothills surrounding. He thrust his hand into his pocket eagerly, and slipped the ring on.

The light of late afternoon left the sky, replaced by a dull mist. There was no sun. No stars. No moon. No light of any kind save for an eerie glow that permeated everything, and illuminated nothing. The shadows lengthened. The world spun. The stones whispered.

It was louder now, much more insistent, and it was not only coming from the ring. The walls themselves glowed as he stalked past, their ancient symbols retracing themselves in cold fire for him to see. The stones were not whispering to him, they were whispering to the ring.

_Alla __mélamar, elda tanwë._

_Alla, eldamar. Immo sam sinya heru._

He could see the group of riders finish their fording of the river and gallop confidently up to the structure, where they dismounted. One of their number bent down and examined the ground, finding Smoke's obvious trail immediately. The leader motioned to the rest, and they fanned out, each taking a slightly different route into the maze of columns and fallen architecture. His limbs enervated by a strange power, Elden slid silently down to the next level, watching one of the men light a torch as he passed below his hiding place.

"Come out, horse master!" The ugly one called. "We only want your fancy sword!"

The last thing the man felt was a warm breath on his ear and a sharp point at his back.

"Come and take it from me."

The torch fell from his lifeless hands and into the wet grass, going out with a hiss. His closest partner turned, but the shadow of Elden was already upon him, and his scream was silenced by an unearthly burble as the blade cut clean through skin, sinew, muscle and bone.

The remaining three quickly converged at the place where the bodies lay, their minds, so cocky and sure a moment ago now fogged with panic. Elden could see this. He could smell the fear drifting off them in waves. It excited him, fed his energy, allowed him to leap an improbable distance from one side of the ancient lane to the other. Two more men were cut to pieces by his sword, and the leader fell back, his eyes locking onto the spot where Elden stood. Elden looked down and saw a splatter of another man's blood on him, outlining his invisible form.

"Curious…" he mused.

The ruffian crawled backwards, his weapon forgotten. Elden kept pace silently, until the man bumped his head against a wall and could go no further. He slipped off the ring, and placed the blade at the man's throat. The man's eyes were screwed shut, his cracked lips mouthing the words "Eru" and "Illuvatar".

"Are you… praying?" Elden said, almost amused. "Tell your gods to come down here and stop me."

As he had suspected, no force prevented him from leaning forward and driving the piece of metal into the man's trachea. Afterwards, though, he felt as though he shouldn't have. That one had been different, not like the others. Another Elden had killed those other hill-folk, but the one that lay at his feet… that had been him, through and through. A strange feeling settled over his heart, and he suddenly wished to hurl the ring from him, but he did not.

_I suppose now I am a murderer as well as a thief_. He thought.

_Only if you believe it. _The ring whispered.

He opened his palm slowly, tremulously.

There it sat, untarnished gold against pale flesh. He returned it to his chain and put it away at once, feeling somewhat sickened. At the sound of footsteps he turned, blade raised for another kill, but it was not the sound of feet, it was the sound of hooves.

Smoke chewed a mouthful of grass, regarding him with indifference.

"You know, in retrospect, you're probably the only real friend I've ever had."

The horse had nothing to add to this statement, so he took his place back in the saddle and departed the ruins, riding north through the thickening trees of Eregion. To the west, the sun passed through the door of night on its endless journey across the sky. Darkness fell over the landscape like a blanket, as if to hide what had been done.

* * *

**[Translations from Quenya, in order of appearance:**

_Noro lim! _**Faster!**

_Alla __mélamar, elda tanwë. _**Welcome home, tool of the elves. (elda tanwë: literally, "elf device")**

_Alla, eldamar. Immo sam sinya heru. _**Hail, elvenhome. I have (a) new master.]**


	3. A Trail to Follow

The ruins were like nothing he had ever seen in his short time on Middle Earth, but he had no eyes for them, only the bodies lying on the grass. Wynn couldn't stop staring. The flies gathered around the corpses' mouths like drunks at a bar, jostling each other for room.

"Hardly any sign of struggle," Hayden was saying. "They just… died."

Emlynn spat on the ground next to one of the expired hill-folk, his casual irreverence still very much intact.

"Look at the wounds. Small, and perfectly level, like they never saw it coming. Like they didn't even get a chance to fight back."

"I can understand getting the drop on one, but all of them? There's magic afoot here, and no mistake."

"I agree. There's something awfully fishy about this whole thing." Emlynn replied. "I knew Elden's father before he was killed in the Umbar campaign. He was a good man, and he taught his son an honest living."

"What about his mother?" Hayden said.

"Died in childbirth. He didn't talk about it much."

"We've all had our share of hardship. It's still no excuse to steal the Lord Regent's betrothal ring."

"Do you honestly think we're still chasing after that, Theongal?"

The second youngest member of their company shrugged.

"What do you think we're after?"

"I don't know, but it's worth sending the twelve of us on a wild goose chase far outside the Mark. The Lord Regent could buy another ring in a heartbeat." Emlynn said.

"What about the sword?" Theongal inquired, not shaken.

"He's got a dozen of those locked away in that little castle of his. None of this makes sense. I've seen a thousand criminals more hardened than this little farm boy, and yet here we are, chasing him all over hell and gone. It's obvious he's never coming back, just like it's obvious that that ring is a lot more than a betrothal trinket-"

"ENOUGH!"

It was Vorath, the leader of the company. His voice was enough to shake Wynn out of his reverie and make him look up. They were gathered around the site of the apparent massacre, their horses tied off just a few paces away. Vorath was a huge man, easily fifteen stone and as tall as a mountain. His voice carried a lot of weight, and not merely because it was deep and loud.

"It doesn't matter why the Lord Regent wants the ring. You swore oaths to the house of Rohan and all its executors, and now you will fulfill them, reasons be damned. I don't want to hear any more questions about the purpose of our mission, am I making myself perfectly clear?"

The deafening silence that followed bore no objections. Vorath turned to look each one of them in the eye in turn.

"Good, mount up. These bodies are fresh, he can't be far ahead."

* * *

Elden sat in the shade of an old oak tree. Smoke was grazing in a clearing a little ways ahead. In his hands was an old tome devoted to the elves that he had stuffed in his pack before leaving. It reminded him of the stories his father used to tell him of distant lands and strange peoples. He enjoyed reading a great deal, and now that the monotony of farm-life was behind him he had all the time in the world to devote to it. It was a very old book, and some of the pages were missing, but what was there was entertaining enough to wile away the morning hours with.

_At first glance, the mannerisms of elves can seem strange, impulsive, contradictory, and at times completely alien to those of men, but upon closer inspection these conclusions are a result of the inherent bias of our perspective. Humans live amongst one another for mere decades, but elves must maintain for millennia. Friends, even elven friends, say and do stupid things that they regret just like humans, and so grievances and disagreements must be carefully managed and politely assuaged, as elven wars are long and terrible, and bad blood can endure for entire ages. This is why the fair folk can seem at times transparent and conniving and at others blunt and impatient._

Something broke his train of thought. At first he couldn't tell what it was, just an odd feeling, like the sensation one gets when their fingers grasp two pages instead of one. Then he felt the ring tug at his neck. He looked down into his tunic at it. It had not changed size or shape, but it felt like its weight was changing, pulling the chain taut against his neck.

Then he heard the hoof beats.

He threw the book back in his bag and raced towards Smoke, his sleeping roll and blanket forgotten on the ground. He leaped into the saddle and spurred the horse on. It responded immediately. The hoof beats were growing louder and louder by the minute, and when they broke clear of the tree line he could see the Eorlingas, and they saw him.

They were still some distance away, but their horses were already warmed up and his was still protesting the fact that it had been ripped away from its delicious meal of shoots and leaves.

For the first time that week, Elden was afraid. The Bruinen was closing in on his left, cutting him off, and the Misty Mountains on his right, impassable for hundreds of miles in either direction, save by the goblin-infested passages of Moria which he had already passed by.

Ahead of him the wood grew thicker, the gaps in the foliage merging into one until they were no more. To the northeast, across the river, he could see the thick beech trees of the Trollshaws. If he had not slowed down somewhat to avoid the trees, he would have tumbled right off the side of the cliff. It came upon them suddenly, and as he gazed down into the valley, and then back at the approaching Eorlingas he was filled with dread. If they could find him then they must already know what he carried, and if so they would not be easily fooled by a mere disappearing act. Besides, they would probably kill the horse out of spite if they could not find him, and he had grown deeply attached to Smoke in the long hours of solitude on the road.

He cast around wildly, and as luck would have it his eyes settled on a small path that wound down the sheer side of the cliff face and into the valley. It was his only hope.

* * *

"Whoa!"

The company turned their horses sharply to avoid sailing off into the mighty chasm. Emlynn slid off his steed an examined the ground, his thin frame looking very much like a bloodhound as he crawled over the grass, examining the hidden markings it contained. He pointed a finger at what at first looked to be a deer-trail, but upon closer inspection was revealed to be a way down into the valley. He and Vorath ran forward, leaning out over the abyss.

There, halfway down the trail, was Elden. He had dismounted, and was leading his black horse behind him by it's halter. Their eyes met briefly. Vorath cursed and spun around.

"Blast! Wynn, Theongal, dismount and follow him. Your horses are small enough to fit."

The two youngest members of the company did as they were told, removing the bit from their respective horses' mouths and unhitching one side of reins, so as to have a rope to lead them by.

"I am relying on you two. Don't let him escape by this route. Sleep on it if you have to."

"What are you going to do?" Wynn said.

Vorath hopped back into the saddle.

"We are going to circle around to the east and block off that end of the valley. It might take a whole day, so don't abandon the trail once you get to the bottom, or else he will just slip away."

As the rest of the company thundered off, Wynn and Theongal regarded one another, and then the valley.

"Is it true what they say? That the magic of the elves is still in this place, guarding it?"

Theongal shrugged.

"If Rivendell is still guarded, then he is walking into two traps and our task will be easy."

Both of them stood silent a moment, looking at the trail. It was awfully thin, and not designed with a fear of heights in mind. Wynn nudged Theongal's arm.

"You first."


	4. A Place to Sleep

The mossy stone was cold on his back. Weariness tugged on his limbs like sand, but he resisted it. The path had spat him out upon a wide green knoll that rolled down, and at its bottom lay the House of Elrond. The last homely house east of the sea matched every legend of its splendor. As his feet carried him down the slope, he marveled at how it had remained almost completely untouched, it's beauty undimmed by the forces of nature. It looked for all the world as though the Ellehdrim had departed only a few hours ago, leaving their refuge in pristine condition.

He let Smoke's reins slip through his fingers, and the horse wandered off to indulge in a bit of grass. The valley was wide and tall, split by a gorge through which the mighty Bruienen flowed endlessly down and out, towards the distant sea. A smaller stream ran down from the high moors above, feeding a pool in the courtyard, which in turn fed into another track that let it cascade back into its mother river.

A bridge spanned the raging waters as they crashed over the falls and down into still deeper canyons below. On the far bank lay the main path into Rivendell. It was a much easier route than the one he had taken; he suspected the narrow trail behind him was a more secret entrance, easily defended. As he looked back at it he saw two figures carefully and methodically working their way down it. Despite this, he was in no hurry. It would take them a while, he knew that much from personal experience, and he had no intention of running. That time was over. It did trouble him somewhat that there were only two of them. What about the others?

No matter. They were no match for him, dismounted and alone. Resisting the overpowering urge to explore, he moved back into the woods behind the elven settlement and looked for a suitable place to hide.

* * *

The surface of the elf's dreams roiled and foamed. The memories that bubbled up were pleasant ones, recollections of her childhood in Lothlórien. Laughing and singing, the wind in her hair, grass stains on her knees.

There was no worry, no question of why yet, no thought given to the fact that old matron Ránëwén took care of them all. Mothers and fathers were things that the other children had. It was only with time that she would learn what sacrifices had been made for her in blood spilt and lives shattered.

At first she had been unable to comprehend the idea, but as the years turned to decades, and the decades to centuries, she had seen firsthand the terrible price exacted for each hour of peace. But where others of her kind had allowed this thought to bring darkness to even the blissful days as they grew older, it had caused her to view each day as more special somehow. She was still very young as her race was concerned, and she intended to stay that way as long as possible, in mind as well as body. The elders might be wise, but they were also stern and rigid. Their spark had dimmed.

She could feel the outside world begin to press gently at her sleeping mind, each second growing more insistent, more real.

Then she heard the rustling noise and her eyes flicked open.

It was not the wind, it was too irregular. She slipped her legs out from underneath the thin coverlet and pulled her coat about her, for the Autumn was dragging on, and there was a chill in the air. As she walked to the balcony she allowed her finger to trail along the chest at the foot of the bed. It came away with a thin layer of dust.

_How long was I asleep? _She wondered.

It was getting hard to tell. With no one else to talk to, and no pressing events or duties to complicate her schedule, she often woke up and drifted off whenever and wherever she found herself. Lothlórien was her birthplace, but Imladris was where she felt the most at home. A powerful magic coursed through the roots of this place. It seeped into the water, twisted round the stalks and shoots of growing plants and danced along the polished stone. The air hummed with it, the earth sang with it, and on nights like this when the sun was just about to leave the horizon altogether, she could _see _it.

It was this powerful heartbeat, this echo, which helped her deduce that there was a horse down below her, gnawing on a walnut tree before she came to the balcony and saw it with her eyes. She could also deduce that it was not part of a wild herd that had wandered through, as its every movement was accompanied by the jangle of a bit as it lay slack in the reins. There was a saddle on its back.

She swung her legs over the railing and landed with a soft thump on the ground next to the creature. That was one of the benefits of living alone; there was no one to tell you to use the stairs …or that you had to be clothed all the time, for that matter.

The horse was not the least bit alarmed by her presence. She reached out a hand and placed it on the animal's muzzle, feeling its soft, warm skin twitch in her palm as it chewed. A brown eye turned to regard her amicably.

_Greetings, gentle creature. Where is your master?_

_I have none._

_Who placed the saddle on your back? Them?_ She said, gesturing behind her to the thin, rocky trail.

It was obscured by trees, but she could plainly sense a pair of humans and horses. The magic reverberated around them like a tidal eddy, leaving a clear imprint in her mind. There was something else too, a dark presence that she could not quite put her finger on. It put her ill at ease. She had not had visitors in a long time. She had not felt that presence… ever.

She left the horse to graze and went back into the House of Elrond. With her abnormally keen eyesight she watched, from a hidden place, as the two men grew closer and closer.

They were not men, not really, still boys. Despite the length of their travel their youthful exuberance was undimmed: she could hear it in their voices, see it in their steps. It reminded her of her own childhood, oh those many years ago. Instead of coming down the hill like most visitors did, they stopped, and began to make camp.

This was even more curious. She watched them for hours, until the sun went down, and still they made no attempt to leave the foot of the trail, almost as though they were waiting for someone. Her curiosity peaked; she moved stealthily into the wood beside them and climbed up into a tree to watch. Both had the mark of the Rohirrim on their shields.

"Do you think they'll find him, or do you think he'll try to come back this way?"

The other one shrugged.

"I wouldn't go back up that path for all the gold in the world. I almost fell twice."

"So does that mean you don't care?"

"No, Wynn, I don't really care. I don't care what happens to Elden, I don't care about that bloody trinket, and I couldn't give less of a damn about Vorath and his talk of oaths."

"Then why did you come?" Wynn said, the annoyance plain in his voice.

"Because it was either this or guard duty. At least we get to go camping under the stars while we stumble after this farm boy."

"He's not a farm boy, Theongal. Didn't you see the bodies?"

"Of course I did you oaf." Theongal replied, untying a stack of kindling from his pack and setting it on the ground.

"And don't you think justice should be done?"

"Justice for what? Whose justice? The Lord Regent's justice?"

"The law of the realm says murder is a crime." Wynn said reproachfully.

"Those hill-people didn't exactly look like the helpless farmer type. I bet they tried to rob him."

"You don't know that."

"No, I don't, now will you please shut up?!"

Theongal's voice echoed off the canyon walls and Wynn was cowed into silence. After placing the sticks in a circle, leaning on one another, he got up. There was a small axe in his hand.

"I'm going to go find some more firewood. Don't leave the trail."

"I know how to keep watch you thickheaded weasel…"

Wynn trailed off into muttering, and the elf shifted her stance carefully, making sure not to move any branches as she watched the taller human crash off into the brush, looking for a sapling to hack down.

That was when she spotted the third figure.

His outline was strange, insubstantial. She had to rub her eyes and look again to make sure they were not lying to her. As Theongal trudged on, completely unaware, a second shadow fell into step behind him. It looked remarkably like a human, if humans went around wreathed in a dark flame.

Without warning the figure wrapped an arm around Theongal's throat, and placed another over his mouth. There was a brief period of choking and spluttering before the lack of air rendered him unconscious. Wynn had heard this. He jumped to his feet, sword in hand. Even the horses looked up from their grazing to take notice.

"Th-Thenogal?"

The shadow turned and moved silently through the brush, looping around behind the younger rider. She wanted to leap down and stop him, but something prevented her.

Wynn went down in similar fashion to Theongal. When his head was lying against the dirt, snoring loudly, the figure suddenly grew more substantial. It was another boy, about the same age as the two he had just dispatched. She was no expert on humans, be he looked to be only a few years beyond manhood.

The figure slipped something into his pocket, and then proceeded to tie up both of the Rohirrim. When this was done he dragged them both back into the garden beneath Elrond's house, looping the rope around one of the pillars and knotting it securely. The horses were fairly calm, and received similar treatment. The elf slid down from her perch and followed him, keeping out of sight as only the Elledhrim are able.

The boy, who she figured must have been the Elden they were referring to, slapped Theongal about the face smartly. He woke with a start, struggling against his bonds immediately.

"Wriggle all you want, little worm. There's nobody to come save you."

He placed the tip of his blade underneath the larger one's throat.

"Where are the rest of you? I counted twelve while you were disappearing in my dust cloud."

Theongal stopped moving, and looked his captor in the eye.

"Vorath is looping around to the main trail. He won't be here until first light tomorrow. If you leave now, you could make a clean getaway."

"That's awfully thoughtful of you, but no, I'm going to wait." Elden said. "You and I both want to see this come to a conclusion after all. You want to go back to Edoras, and I have no interest in returning there ever, alive or dead. When he gets here, we will see if two of your lives are worth one of mine.

He sheathed his sword, which she realized with a start was of elvish make.

…_where on Middle Earth had he gotten that?_

"Sleep tight now, and don't try anything with the ropes or I'll kill you."

Her heart racing, the elf slipped away from the pillar she had been hiding behind and went back upstairs to her room. She opened the chest at the foot of her bed and retrieved her own sword. Its pommel felt good in her hands, a familiar weight that she had drilled countless hours with. Drilled with, but never used.

Until now.

* * *

Elden reached into his pack and withdrew the slip of fabric he had used to separate the rabbits, two of which were now gone. He cut it in two and bound the mouths of the Eorlingas so they would not scream or otherwise draw attention to themselves.

"I guess you two will have to do without each others witty banter for a while. Is that alright with you?" He asked, false courteousness dripping from his voice.

Muffled curses issued from behind the burlap.

"Splendid."

He walked back toward the cover of the elven hall, seating himself on the bench. Briefly, he considered hunting, but he discounted it. There were several coneys left in the pack, each carrying enough meat for a ball twice the size of his fist, it was just a matter of cooking them, and he was dead tired. The hours of running seemed to wipe away the hours of rest he had managed to steal while on the move. Stopping underneath those trees to read had been a grave mistake, and he had almost paid dearly for it.

He leaned over, pulling his legs in and lying down flat on the bench. The night was fairly cold, and he wished he had gotten the time to save his blanket and mattress roll, but it had not come to pass. The though of it moldering somewhere up on the high moors made him more than a little grumpy, but he consoled himself with the fact that the two Eorlingas were going to have a much rougher night than he was, lashed to the stone as they were. As sleep weighed heavier and heavier on his eyelids, he wondered in passing where Smoke was.

No matter. The horse seemed to have a mind of its own anyway. It was less his beast of burden and more his traveling companion and confidant. He fought the sandman until he thought he could hear both of his captives breathing more heavily, and then he drifted off into a fitful, troubled slumber, filled with dreams of fire and stockades.

* * *

He was woken before first light at dawn by hot, stinky breath on his face. The first sight that greeted his eyes was a disproportionately large set of nostrils. He shot upright in surprise, before seeing that it was Smoke.

"Damn! Don't do that!"

The horse gave a whinny that sounded suspiciously mirthful.

"You're in an odd mood. What's gotten into you, huh?"

Elden patted the horses' flank, wishing he had a piece of apple to feed it with. It wandered off once more, its hooves clacking smartly on the polished stone floors of the courtyard. The leading edge of the sun broke over the horizon, dispelling the last wisps of a fog that had crept down from the moors sometime during the night. The captives were starting to stir as well. He pulled his pack on and made sure he had everything he needed to continue running if this went wrong.

He half expected it would, but he was confident he could escape alone as long as he had the ring. Its reassuring weight on his breast made him almost ambivalent to the outcome. If they accepted his offer, then that would be that, but if they didn't... well, he would cross that bridge if and when it arrived.

There was a faint popping noise as he stretched. In either case it was shaping up to be a long and taxing day.

* * *

There was something odd about this boy, and not merely the obvious; that he could become seemingly invisible to his fellow humans. She had a few theories about that, but it was the manner in which he carried himself that intrigued her. He moved with a grace and competence that belonged to a much older man, not a motion wasted, nor an avenue left unwatched. Several times she had to duck back away from a window as his roving eyes passed over them ceaselessly. The other Rohirrim that he had tied up seemed to feel this as well. Despite the fact that they both looked at least a winter older than him, they were held under his spell, and when he untied them and ordered them to walk ahead of him to the bridge, their horses in tow, neither of them tried to escape.

She watched as he tied all four to the statues at the far end of the bridge. The sun was halfway over the peaks already, and the daylight was just beginning to filter down into the gardens. It was a mystery to her why she hadn't intervened yet, and at the same time it wasn't. This was the most interesting thing that had happened since she had taken up her self-appointed vigil. She was not about to squander it by running in and playing goalie. This was the "Age of Men" after all. Best to let them sort out their own problems.

Those thoughts echoed once, twice, three times in her head, and afterwards rang hollow. She chastised herself silently. Had isolation really made her that callous? She made a mental note to get involved if things got out of hand. There would be no idle blood spilled on the steps of Imladris, not on her watch.

* * *

The faces on the statues were stern, but it was not an angry sternness, merely watchful. The pair of them stared down at him, their pupil-less eyes seeming to track him wherever he went. It was hard to tell if the subject was male or female. They were both identical, and heavily armored, or at least, heavily armored for an elf. A cape descended from their shoulders, its folds and fluctuations wrought in exquisite detail by its maker.

On the far bank, two more stood facing west, with their backs to him, their lifeless stone eyes surveying the curved, gently sloping path that led up to the moors, and the Fords of Bruinen. Near the top the dirt turned to stairs before it curved again, this time behind a fold of the white cliffs and out of sight. He had tied the two Eorlingas more tightly this time, giving them hardly any slack so that they could move no more than an arms-length from the statues. The horses he had given a bit more leeway. They hadn't done anything but what they were ordered to, and he could not fault him for that.

Before long, the rest of the company rounded the bend. He could tell instantly which one Vorath was. It was a wonder his horse could run so fast with him on top of it, let alone maintain a position at the head of the march. As they drew level with him and halted, he could see disbelief in their eyes.

"I see you two both have made a proper mess of things." Vorath said, dismounting.

Elden drew his sword and put it beneath the younger one's chin, causing him to flinch.

"That they have, Vorath, that they have."

When the leader of the Eorlingas was ten paces away, he held up his hand.

"That is far enough. Now we will make a deal. Their lives… or mine."

"Or both." Vorath replied, his fingers playing a measured staccato on the handle of his axe..

"Or both, if you're so inclined." Elden said. "Did the Lord Regent tell you to bring me back alive or dead?"

"He wasn't specific. I don't think he'd mind either way. I certainly don't. And it certainly won't bother me to report that two young men of the Mark died valiantly while killing an enemy of Rohan."

Elden let the sword fall to his side, and he stepped forward, off of the bridge.

"Then there's only one other way to settle this."

"Aye, that there is."

The rest of the Eorlingas drew back a few paces, and Vorath withdrew his axe from his belt. It was a cruel, single-sided implement, whose length terminated in a short spike equally useful for running down Orcs on horseback and for fighting on foot. As it came whistling towards his face, he wondered how many lives it had taken.

He ducked down, as though to lace up his boots, and the thick cutting edge rent the air where just a moment ago his scalp had been. He spun to the left, slashing at the man's exposed face, but he caught the blade with the crook of the axe and twisted it from his grip. Elden was thrown off balance, and had to roll to avoid being split like firewood. The axe head sparked as it bounced off the stone, and he rolled again, once, twice, his fingers wrapping around the handle of his fallen sword and pushing himself back to his feet.

Vorath was actually smiling as he came at him again with a wicked overhand blow, as though trying to drive in a tent-spike. Elden moved again, and the axe embedded in the soft, loamy soil beside the path and stuck fast.

Elden lunged wildly, desperate to hit his foe while he was momentarily distracted, and Vorath howled as the shoulder of his tunic was cut open.

"Get him!" He said, backing away from his embedded axe and pointing at Elden with a shaking finger.

An arrow whistled past Elden's cheek, the head slashing a long groove into his face.

"Augh!"

He stumbled back and clutched at his face. It was not a scream of pain so much as a scream of rage. Where was the famous honor that the Eorlingas were supposed to possess? Lies. Lies and stories. Not even a duel was sacred to them.

_Fine_ he thought, as the other riders closed in, leveling their spears to impale him. _No more obligation to play fair_.

His hand slipped into his pocket and into the waiting depths of the ring.

A number of things happened in short succession after he did this. For a brief moment, the Eorlingas stared in stunned disbelief at the spot he had occupied just a moment ago.

Then the statues began to move.

They sprang off their pedestals, severing the ropes binding his two captives and their horses. This seemingly convinced all of the riders at once that it was a good time to be leaving, which they did at great speed.

All except for Vorath.

"Come back here you cowards! Come back-!"

Before Elden could get a chance to bury his sword in the man's neck, one of the statues smacked Vorath firmly in the side with the flat of it's blade, sending him tumbling off the falls to his ruin. The other statue turned to face Elden. Surprise made him momentarily feeble, and his offhand blow was easily deflected. The statue reached out a hand and grasped him in its impregnable grip. It hurled him bodily back across the river. He bounced and slammed onto his chest hard, the breath whooshing out of him causing him to gasp and clutch at his lungs. More statues were gathering. They came from other parts of the garden, where they had stood silently, watching him and the captives for hours as they slept. He was now lying in the center of the circular veranda at the steps of the main lodge.

One of the two that stood on the east end of the bridge stooped, pulling back it's sword to skewer him.

_Farea!_

The statue that had been about to run him through stopped, and moved back a few paces. Its brethren joined it in a semicircle around Elden, blocking off the main path. He rolled over, groaning, to see an elf walking down the steps, a slightly curved blade in hand. It was a work of artistry, rather like the creature herself. Her hair was a shade of gold that put sunlight to shame. Her dress was almost blindingly white, and for the first time that entire week, Elden felt real fear. The ring was on his finger, and yet she could see him clearly. He stood and grasped his sword, pointing it across the gap between them as though by force of will alone it could fly forward and bury itself in her clavicle.

Her response to this was not anger, but a smile. She walked down onto the veranda, and they fell almost unconsciously into a circular motion, Elden keeping her at arms length, shuffling to the side one step at a time so as not to be caught off balance if she decided to strike.

"The Rohirrim would not pursue someone without cause. Who are you?"

The question seemed to come as much from her eyes as from her lips. He could not look away from those dark pools, they grasped at him, demanding the truth.

"My name is Elden, and it is true what they say. I am a horse thief."

"If they have pursued you this far and this hard, you are a thief of more than horses, young Elden."

"I have no quarrel with you, spirit." Elden said, keeping his blade level and steady. "If you will let me, I will depart and trouble you no more."

The elf laughed. It was a beautiful sound, high and clear like a stream crashing into the sea. It sent shivers down his spine.

"I am no spirit, my name is Nellas, and you shall do no such thing. Not until you have proven you are worthy to hold that stolen blade."

Her words were the only warning. In another moment she was right in front of him, almost as though she had vanished and reappeared only an inch away. He raised his sword, reflexively, and they crashed together. Once. Twice. Three times. She threw him backward and his sword went clattering to the ground yet again.

He snatched it up once more and turned to face her. She could have easily dispatched him there. Why not? Was she playing with him? Toying with her food before eating it? He allowed himself a brief glance at the hall, and then dashed towards it. The elf followed at a walk, as though she had not a care in the world and this was just another stroll through the garden.

Elden moved around the corner and hid, trying to catch his breath. He could see her through the walls, he realized. Under the ring's influence her aura was astonishingly bright, a light that cut through stone and flesh and mind and lies. Her piercing gaze followed him wherever he went, no matter how he was hidden. He stepped out into the garden, realizing that his cut was leaving a scattered trail of red on the ground as he walked. He wiped the blood away from his chin where it was gathering.

Her feet made no noise as she approached. Elden raised his sword, preparing himself for one last exchange. His leg was throbbing from being thrown by the statue, causing him to limp slightly. Even if he had been in the peak of health, he doubted he would be able to defeat this creature.

As he swung the blade with all that remained of his strength, her eye caught his again.

The vigor seemed to drain from his shoulders even as he heaved the sword towards her, until it stopped dead, inches from her skin. He tried to will it to continue, but it was no use. Still smiling, Nellas raised a hand, and he felt his feet leave the ground. Suddenly he was flying backwards, feet kicking, until he slammed into the wall behind him.

His feet no longer had the energy to stand, and they gave out underneath him. He tasted copper, and spit out a mouthful of blood. It gleamed in odd colors on the ancient stone. When he looked up, the elf's blade was underneath his chin.

_So this is how it ends._ He thought, fleetingly. _A fair recompense, I suppose._

But the end did not come. Instead, what came was that lilting voice, sweet as the air coming off the mountainside in spring.

"Where did you come by that ring, child? Did you steal it as well?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did." He replied.

"Then you are no petty burglar. That is a rare artifact. I had thought them all to be extinct, or else carried over the sea with the rest of the elves."

Despite being at the point of her sword, unable to stand up, and with his weapon on the ground out of arms reach, he felt somehow powerful. The ring let him see the elf as she truly was, all the ages of her life spread out before him. She was still relatively young for one of her kind, but the breadth of her memory was a chasm vaster than all the tunnels in Moria, and filled to the brim with treasure. He felt powerful simply to be able to communicate so boldly with such an awesome creature.

"What force is driving you? I can see that you have come far, and that you have far still to go. There is a sickly gleam in your eye, child, but it is not lust of gold. Why were they chasing you?"

"The laws of men in their infinite wisdom make it crime for both rich and poor to sleep under bridges." He replied, his own wry smirk finding his blood-speckled lips.

There was always time for a smile in the face of imminent death. He had worn one even as he lay in the stockades. He wore one now.

"I will ask you again. Why were the Rohirrim pursuing you?"

As an answer he raised his right fist to the heavens, and pulled back the sleeve of his tunic.

* * *

His speech was an odd, throaty brand of Westron, colored by slang, and yet possessing a firmer grasp on the language than his demeanor at first suggested. His hair was short and dark, like the varnished surface of an oak tree, were it not for the spots of dirt that marred it. The hands that had held his sword were rough and callused from long hours of labor. On his knuckle gleamed something that Nellas had thought gone from the world, one of Celebrimbor's lost works, perhaps to test the very mold he would later use to make the rings of power themselves. Upon his exposed forearm lay the black face of Mandos. Under the influence of the ring a strange aura warped him, his visage was dark and princely, and the mark looked not out of place. Blood dripped slowly from the gash on his cheek.

"A death sentence, then?"

"Yes. Only, I never thought it would be carried out by an elf."

She allowed the tip of the blade to move gently across his throat in circles.

"I find it strange that you humans throw around death as though it were a curse."

"What else could it be? To have your bones rot and your empire crumble and your dearest friends forget you? What else could it be?"

"A gift. The greatest gift, in fact." Nellas said. "The Valar bestowed it upon you, so that you might walk in the circles beyond the earth."

It was his eyes that were his most arresting feature, she realized; ice blue, like the sky on a cloudless day. There was a strange melancholy in them, something she had more often seen in the eyes of older elves who felt the burdens of Arda's troubled history weighing upon their shoulders.

"Then it is a gift that I would gladly return, if I could."

He reached a shaking hand to his finger, and took off the ring.

His manner was instantly reduced to that of a humble young traveler. The darkness was still there, lurking behind those startling eyes, but it no longer enshrouded him as it had a moment before. He pressed his eyelids shut.

"Do it."

Instead, Nellas let the sword fall, and extended a hand.

After a moment, Elden opened his eyes again. He regarded the smooth fingers warily for a moment, as though deciding whether this was another trick. At last, he took it, and she pulled him to his feet, shakily.

"You are worthy to hold that sword, but henceforth, allow no one to strike it from your grasp. Your weapon is your life."

The force of this reprimand was cut short somewhat as the boy collapsed to his knees against the fountain, wracked with coughing. Miniscule flecks of blood ran through the water and down to the falls. Nellas put a hand under his other arm and helped him back up.

"You must walk. There is medicine inside."

* * *

**A/N: Happy New Years everybody, I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as you enjoy the party tonight. Don't drink any highball glasses from strangers and don't forget to leave feedback.**


	5. A Fire to Kindle

Elden woke to the sound of birdsong. Warm light was playing across his eyelids, and when he opened them he found that it was coming through a set of large open windows, accompanied by a cool breeze. Shortly thereafter the events of the previous morning came back to him, along with the myriad of associated aches and pains. Had it been the previous morning? It was afternoon now, but whether it was this or that afternoon, he knew not. His eyes hadn't seen a calendar in a long while. He had even forgotten which day of the week it was, which was a first for him. The planting season was carefully coordinated and the work began early, so it paid to know time like you knew your own skin. He could judge the time of day to within fifteen minutes, and often when he walked past the sundial on the road back to the cabin he would close his eyes and guess before checking. Even to this day, Elden's mind woke itself before first light, although now that he did not have farm chores to attend to he usually allowed himself to drift off back to sleep.

Unbidden, his father's face drifted to him like a scrap of dream still stuck to his vision. It was a lined and cracked face. Weather-beaten. Honest. When he smiled, it looked the whole thing changed shape, making you laugh too. Despite having a rather simple wit, he was a deeply philosophical man, and one corner of the cabin held a set of shelves containing worn and beaten books, some of his most prized possessions. He would often tell Elden stories about places Elden had never heard of and that was not sure existed. Sometimes he would make up stories, and it was rather hard to tell them apart from the true ones, especially because he could not exactly verify what he was hearing. The nearest library was in Gondor. Rohan was too vast, too agrarian to have much use for such things.

His father liked sayings as well. When Elden would inevitably grumble at being woken at the crack of dawn to milk the cows, his father would reply cheerfully "So teach us to number our days, that we may acquire a wise heart."

Suddenly, he realized that his eyes were burning. He wiped the moisture away, angry at himself. Now wasn't the time for self pity. He tried to picture his father's face, lying dead on the distant sands of Umbar next to his steed. He tried to picture that honest old face staring lifelessly up at the sky, and to feel nothing as he did so, but even after two years the face was still smiling that cheerful smile.

After a few minutes he regained his composure and put it out of his mind, to the extent that it was possible.

With some effort, he pushed himself upright, and immediately regretted it. His entire body let out a painful jolt of protest, in particular the small of his back and his right leg. Pain was nothing new to Elden, so he gritted his teeth and ignored it. Still, it took him some time before he was confident enough of his own balance that he could stand without holding on to something. His clothes had been stripped, and were piled neatly beside the bed, cleaner than he had ever seen them. Feeling somewhat uneasy with the knowledge that an elf he hardly knew had undressed him while he was unconscious, he slipped into his breaches and pulled the grey tunic over his head. His socks were so stretched from travel that they looked more like stockings, but he put them on anyway as the boots were not forgiving footwear without them.

The room was elegant and beautiful, as was the bed that he had been lying in. A full-length mirror lay up against one wall, and in it he saw a version of himself that looked like it had taken a good thrashing, which it had. There was a thick bandage on the side of his face where the arrow had sliced him, anchored around the back of his head and chin by way of a strip of gauze. The underside tingled something awful, but he resisted the urge to rip it off and scratch it.

His pack lay on a table beside him, its contents exhumed and neatly arranged. Three rabbits, his battered book, a fire-maker, a length of rope, his cloak, a small set of crock pots, a few sticks, and a knife with a handle so worn it carried the imprint of his hand. What was remarkable about the items was not what was there, but what was not: a map, a compass, directions of any kind. It described a journey without a destination. He felt a brief twinge of unease, but when he put his hand to his chest the ring was still there. Odd, he thought, that he couldn't feel it unless he pressed his palm against it. The chain and its contents had almost become a part of his body.

Questions were pressing at him, such as why the elf had not ended his life as she had had every right to, and why she was being so hospitable. Perhaps it was simply a matter of not having visitors in an awful long time, or perhaps there were darker designs. Over the top of this symphony of thought, the note of hunger played in a deep, loud baritone that overwhelmed all else.

_Question providence later,_ his stomach would have grumbled, had it possessed the ability to speak. _Food first._

The elf was nowhere to be seen, so he hobbled out into the hall and from there out to the veranda, a reconstituted pack in tow. From it he produced some kindling that had been harvested previously, but not yet used. It had been smashed to bits by his departure and sudden re-acquaintance with the ground, but there were still enough long pieces to make a teepee. The rest he shoved underneath. He went and filled the pot from the stream and set it atop the construction. With a patient hand he skinned the remaining coneys and extracted all the edibles, placing them in the water. For several moments he was confounded, as the fire-striker produced no sparks. Then he looked more closely at it and realized that one of the pieces of flint it had contained was missing, rendering it useless. He removed the other piece and got up again, wincing as his leg twinged painfully. Where the smooth stone gave way to grass and dirt, he felt around for a rock, discarding several that were not the right shape or texture. Even this small activity was fairly grueling. His back would not allow him to bend over fully and neither would his leg allow him to crouch fully, so he did a little bit of both.

The rock sparked nicely against the flint, so he cut a small portion of rope from the rest and teased it apart into its constituent fibers before crumpling this into a ball and placing it at the center of the woodpile. Still, it would not light. No matter how many sparks he showered the piece of rope with, all it would do was smolder fitfully. He was about to hurl the rock from him in disgust when the fire sprang up unexpectedly. He looked up and saw the elf standing beside him. If he had been the nervous type he would have jumped out of his skin, as he had not heard her approach, but thankfully he was not.

* * *

The horse was obviously a Maeras; she had known it since she had first laid eyes on it. The way it carried itself was obviously different to Elden's horse, which lay half-asleep underneath the shade of a holly tree, but the dead giveaway was the eyes. They spoke of intelligence, wisdom, and yes, pain. Those eyes regarded her mistrustfully as she approached, but it did not move away.

Nellas stood there a while, not wanting to reach out with her hand in case the horse was nervous.

_I am sorry about what happened to your master._

At these words, the piercing gaze was broken, and the animal lowered its muzzle to graze.

_Don't be. Vorath was cruel and savage. I was given to him as a prize and I am glad he is gone._

She wanted to say more, but something caught her eye.

The mercurial boy she had treated the previous night was awake and hunched over a pile of sticks, trying to start a fire without much luck. Her bare feet made no noise as she moved over to him. A wad of something fuzzy was smoking at the center as it was showered with sparks, but it seemed in need of some help. Nellas closed her eyes and breathed out deeply. When she opened them again, a small flame had caught that grew quickly, leaping from its starting point and chewing into the fuel left for it with an unusual swiftness. Elden turned and met her gaze.

It surprised her how easily he could do that, and how steadily he could hold it. In times past, the few humans that she had met seemed loathe to meet her eye, as though the sun were shining just behind her head and it hurt to look upon.

His eyes were rimmed with red, but she decided that now was not the best time to bring it up.

At length she came and sat down opposite him. She wasn't thrilled he was doing this on the stone, but the black scorch mark would come away easily. Elven hewn marble was not just fireproof, it was nigh indestructible.

"Thank you." He said.

"For what, might I ask?"

"For not killing me."

"You are most welcome." She replied, maintaining a polite and diplomatic tone.

"I'd offer you some, but you don't eat meat, do you?"

She shook her head.

"No, but the gesture is appreciated. Can I offer you a bed inside tonight?"

A ghost of a smile played across his face.

"Thanks, but I've spent the night on the ground so many times, I don't know if I could fall asleep anywhere else. Besides, I will be on my way come first light tomorrow."

"Perhaps it would be wise to stay longer, considering your leg…"

"I'll manage."

After a long pause she mentioned the thing that had weighed most on her mind during the time that he was unconscious.

"That ring is very dangerous, you know."

The water was beginning to boil, and the bubbles that floated to the surface released a rich, gamey aroma. Elden stirred the pot with a knife and tasted the broth collected on the flat side of the blade.

"So am I. We get along just fine."

_We?_ Nellas thought with some alarm. _Who is "we"?_

"If you keep using it to hide yourself from the world, eventually the effects will be permanent. You will become a wraith."

"I already am. When those men get back to Edoras and tell of my death, I will be a ghost in all but name. That is perfectly fine with me."

His answers had a way of leaving her speechless. Not because they were audacious or rude, but because she simply hadn't expected them. This was quite troubling. She decided to leave him alone and not press the issue, but it would come up before he left, she was certain of that.

Nellas was not about to let something like that simply leave her sight. It was not an artifact that could be entrusted to a mortal man alone.

* * *

Afternoon crept into evening. The honey light of the sun kissed the valley, reminding her of the glory of the old kingdom. Normally she let such thoughts of the past leave as quickly as they came. It did not do to dwell on it, on the people that once were here. The memories could drive one crazy.

The sound of splashing reached her ears, and she went over to the other window. Elden was bathing in the courtyard stream, his clothes left on a bench beside the fountain. She could not help but steal a peek at as his body.

His frame was thin and muscled. He was built like a weasel, tall and compact. There were several large scars on his back, obviously the remnants of the lash. They glistened in the fading sunlight as he bent to get his arms wet, scrubbing furiously.

Feeling somewhat childish, she let him have his privacy, but only after another sidelong glance.

* * *

Evening turned to night. Honey glow receded into bruised plum, and then into velvety darkness. She considered going to bed, but she didn't really feel tired, and she had also seen a light on in the hall, one that she had not set.

_I set my sail  
fly the wind it will take me  
back to my home, sweet home_

With her acute sense of hearing, she could pick up the faint sound of humming drifting through the air. It was soft and low, like someone singing a lullaby to a baby. She followed it.

_Lie on my back  
clouds are making way for me  
I'm coming home, sweet home_

The hall across from the house of Elrond was slightly smaller, but it was not subdivided by rooms, allowing the massive oaken shelves to stretch up to the ceiling. Every inch was crammed with books of every size and shape, carefully bound scrolls leaning up against musty tomes and volumes in a matched set, some of these sets numbering twenty books long or more, vast histories of Arda charting the rise and fall of every kingdom since the secret fire was first breathed into the world. Here and there were glass cases, bottles of this and that, extraordinary insects preserved in amber. The humming was louder in here, but still soft and wavering, like a reverently recited prayer.

_I see, your star, you left it burning for me  
Mother, I'm here_

Eyes open wide  
feel your heart and it's glowing  
I'm welcome home, sweet home

She caught sight of him between gaps in the shelving. He was standing near the center, not reading just looking, gazing up at the vastness of the collection. The bandage had been removed from his face, the lips of the wound underneath already closed thanks to her medicine. He would have a scar there for the rest of his life, though.

_I take your hand  
now you'll never be lonely  
not when I'm home, sweet home_

I see your star, you left it burning for me  
Mother, I'm here

A cherry red glow lit his facial features for a moment and then went out. A thick cloud of smoke blossomed like a flower into the air.

"You can look, but don't take."

Apparently he had not heard her approach, because he looked at her with a half-startled, half-indignant expression.

"I'm not a thief!" He said, quickly.

The smell of the pipe was rich and piney. It made her want to sneeze.

_An absolutely inscrutable human habit, _she thought.

"What you mean to say is that you are not _just _a thief."

"Not a thief of books, anyway-" Elden continued. "Besides, who would I sell these to? We're miles from the nearest market and they're probably cursed or something."

"They are not cursed. How much of the language can you read?" She said.

"Queyna? Hardly any."

Nellas ran her hand along a spine gently, brushing away the dust.

"Some of them have beautiful illustrations, if you know where to look. Just make sure you are gentle. These are the only copies and they must endure."

Elden was no longer looking at the books.

"For how long?"

It was an odd question, but somehow it cut to the root of these last ten years she had spent in solitude. It made her feel a sense of foreboding, but she couldn't quite fathom why.

"I- don't know. Long enough."

"Is that why you staid behind? To watch over the book collection?"

It was her turn to feel indignant, but she did not allow her voice to betray it… most of it, at least.

"Rivendell is _much_ more than just a book collection."

Then they both pretended to be examining the spines, as it was more comfortable than looking at one another. There was a long pause before Nellas spoke again.

"You still haven't told me how you came by that mark."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand twitch slightly at those words.

"We've all done things we are not proud of." He said, softly.

"Yes, but not all things carry the penalty of death."

He did not answer, but instead continued to browse, his hands clasped against the desktop.

"Are you embarrassed?" She asked.

Nellas felt that since she had indirectly helped him out of the fate that the mark signified, she was obligated to at least a few answers about its origin.

"More ashamed than you can imagine." He whispered hoarsely.

"Is that why you don't want to tell me?"

"I don't really care if you know; I just… don't want to say it out loud anymore. It's been on my mind enough without it being on my tongue too."

His pipe lay on its side, and as she watched, the last ember faded into black once more. She almost smiled as she considered what she was about to say.

"I will tell you why I really staid behind if you tell me how you got that mark."

He considered her a moment, obviously torn between privacy and curiosity. Much to her satisfaction, the latter won out.

"I was one of the Eorlingas once. I joined when I was sixteen, or was forced to join, rather." He said. "My father had just answered the muster to go south and fight, and I… cultivated a habit of theft, for which I was eventually caught. Since the crimes were petty and able bodies short, I was given the choice of the iron pit, or service behind the shield of Rohan. I didn't know what I was getting myself into, but those were hard times all around and I wanted to be able to hold my head up high."

He looked supremely uncomfortable, but Nellas wanted the truth.

"They wanted to send me south as well. I didn't want to go. I tried to run away and desert my company. When they caught me they took me back to Edoras and flogged me. I was left in the square for three days with no water or food. I escaped on the third night. They were going to hang me in the morning."

"Why did you leave?" Nellas asked.

"Slaying a stray band of orcs that wanders into farmland is one thing. Éomer's campaigns are quite another. That is where they wanted to send me."

"Éomer's campaigns? You must forgive me; I have not received news of anything beyond this valley in a decade."

Obviously thankful for the change of subject, Elden elaborated, not noticing that Nellas had not fulfilled her end of the bargain.

"After the War of the Ring ended, there were still scores to settle. The men of the south had aided Sauron. Men of Harad, and corsairs from Umbar had done almost as much damage as the orcs. King Ellesar and King Éomer rode together, first against the corsairs and then against the nomadic tribes of the Haradrim. Many of the southron territories now belong to Gondor."

"What happened to your father?" Nellas asked, although she already knew the answer.

"He made it sixteen months, survived the first campaign, but just before the voyage back from Umbar he caught dysentery. They tossed him overboard on the way to Gondor, as his body was decaying too fast to return to his homeland."

"I am sorry to hear that."

Elden smiled. It was a false, mask-like smile, a grimace meant to convey that he did not care, even though she could tell he did.

"So was I."

There was a long, awkward silence.

"So the kingdom of men is expanding, then." She said, lamely.

"Yes. There is even talk of bringing the rest of the Dark Numenorians into the fold, if they can be brought to heel."

"And if they cannot?"

Elden smiled again. This one was grim, but genuine.

"Then they will walk in the circles beyond the earth, as you put it."


	6. A Journey to Plan

The sky was black, no stars. His feet stumbled over the cobblestones. A figure in a green, hooded traveling cloak rather like his was walking ahead of him. Elden was running, and the figure was walking, but he never seemed to be able to catch up to it. As soon as he got close enough to reach out and touch it, the apparition would slide forward and round the next corner as if the ground were greased underneath it.

All around him, Gondor burned. Boulders crashed through the parapets, spreading the ground with rubble that seemed to bounce right through him. From the lowest street to the highest tower he followed that figure, and everywhere the flames leaped and licked at his heels, never scorching him.

At last they reached the white tree. It too was ablaze. Amidst the ash that fell like the first gentle snow of fall giving way to winter, the figure turned.

It was him.

The outline of his own face shimmered back at him, and as it raised its sword (_his_ sword, he realized), a ring gleamed on its finger.

He was awake.

His eyes shot open as though they had been branded. First light was already gone and the morning was well under way. He turned over, and received a second shock which briefly made him grasp for the hilt of his weapon.

Nellas was sitting on a bench just feet from him, watching him. He swore, and allowed his muscles to unclench.

"You know, you really have to stop sneaking up on me."

"My apologies," She said, in a voice that somehow didn't allow him to retain his anger. "I wanted a word with you before you left."

Elden picked himself up off the ground and dust off his cloak before setting it on his shoulders and shutting the clasp. It had seen him through thick and thin, like almost everything he owned.

"I want to go with you."

The statement caught him flatfooted, but he tried not to show it. A good rule of thumb for life was to not let on any more than you had to. Knowledge of something equaled power over something, and he would never let anyone have power over him again. Every person had their tells, the difference being that he had found his a long time ago and worked to get rid of them. The elf had hardly any, as far as he could tell. Her face was almost always the picture of serene wisdom.

"What about-" he gestured around at Rivendell, "all this? Weren't you guarding it or something?"

"I told myself I was, and for a time I believed it, but not anymore. You changed my mind." Nellas said.

Elden was surprised. He hadn't known he had it in him to change an elf's mind, or that such a thing was even possible.

"I hope you understand that I'm just wandering. I stopped thinking about destinations a week ago and I haven't looked back. I don't have a plan."

"Neither do I." Nellas replied, "All I want to do is see the world outside. I've lived my entire life between Rivendell and Lothlorian."

"If you're going to travel with me, then we're traveling by my rules. That means I call the shots: direction of travel, when it's safe to light a fire, what towns we go into and which ones we avoid, savvy?"

The elf smiled.

"Perfectly agreeable."

"Uh…" Elden said, running out of conditions to impose. "I guess that'll be fine then."

His face suddenly felt flushed for some reason. Why had he been resisting so hard? Did he like talking to Smoke that much? True, he couldn't sing any annoying march songs, but he couldn't sing any good ones either. Conversation aside, there was also the small matter of Nellas being much easier on the eyes than Smoke.

Her own knapsack was already sitting beside her feet, fully stocked from the looks of it.

"How did you know I'd say yes?"

"I didn't, but I hoped you would."

* * *

They were both hunched over a map of Middle Earth, tracing paths that stretched many leagues with their fingers.

"If we're going to be on the road, I need to stock up on supplies in Bree." He said, producing a tightly stuffed coin pouch.

Nellas raised an eyebrow.

"Where did you get that?"

Elden winked.

"Don't worry about it. I thoroughly earned it, let's put it that way."

He seemed to be in a better mood today. Less distant, less somber. The horses were already awake, and were having a game of some sort, chasing each other around the hillside in high spirits.

"Vorath's horse seems to be enjoying itself."

Nellas nodded.

"She has consented to be named Aini. I believe she is altogether happier now that she has changed hands."

"How does a horse consent to something?" Elden asked.

"She is a Maeras. They are blessed among horse-kind, being swifter of foot and more intelligent. I have no doubt that she can understand the speech of men, so watch your words."

"I'll make sure not to call her a cart-horse within earshot." He replied sarcastically.

"What is yours called?" She asked, ignoring him.

"Smoke."

"Really? What prompted that moniker?"

"He's fast and slippery. Look, even the Maeras can't keep up."

It was true. While the stallion couldn't quite catch up to the other horse, neither could the other horse catch up to it. At last their chase broke towards where they standing and both horses arrived panting and out of breath.

Elden picked up his saddle from where it had been lying on the ground and cinched it back on to Smoke, pulling himself up onto it when he was done. Nellas forsook saddle and bit entirely to ride Aini bareback, without reins. They didn't dawdle much. Nellas had already taken exactly what she thought she could use and nothing more. She had said all her silent goodbyes the previous night after Elden went to bed. Still, there was a little lump in her throat as they crossed over the bridge for the last time.

She cast a glance over her shoulder, and one of the statues winked at her. Around it's pedestal, the inscription in Tengwar glowed faintly and then faded back to the color of stone. They still had enough power in them to protect Imladris for many ages hence.

Soon they had gone up the twisting path and out of the valley that the humans called Rivendell. The clouds were plentiful today, stretching out into long lines like sandbars in the sky. The sunlight would play over them one second, only to be hidden the next as one of the slowly advancing fronts crossed before it, casting a shadow. Thankfully the Ford of Bruinen had not yet been swollen by melt water from the Misty Mountains, and was easily cross-able.

"The edge of the wild..." Nellas murmured softly.

"Aye, but which edge? The wilderness is all around us."

He had very sharp ears for a human, she had noticed, and a sharp tongue as well. She enjoyed having someone to talk to after so long, and they chatted amiably as the horses trotted along, none of them in a particularly great hurry.

He was full of odd sayings that she had never heard before, for example, when she had asked him why he had become a thief, he said simply: "There are two ways of looking at the world, but only one when you're starving", which had made her feel rather foolish for asking in the first place, an emotion she had not felt in a very long time.

As they talked, she tried to find out more about him in her round-about way, gently steering the subject of conversation towards him. It was not easy to do. While most humans she had had experience with were proud and even boastful creatures, Elden was reserved with what he shared, as if he was keeping a mental tally of what he had told her. By and by, the topic moved to ancestors, and Elden had asked if her parents were waiting for her in Valinor. Nellas confessed, rather matter-of-factly, that she was an orphan.

She found she often had to do this: offer up some tidbit of information about herself to get a similar one from Elden. It was a little game of wits they played. When she asked him about his parents, she feigned ignorance, even though she could already guess a great deal from what she had overheard. He paused, as he often did before telling the truth.

"I don't feel anything for my mother, really. I never met her in the first place, so I guess I can't miss her all that much. I suppose I would have liked to have had a mother, but... ah well. You can't always get what you want."

He stared straight ahead, smiling that painful, mask-like smile, and she felt something move in her, another emotion that had been left untouched for some time: pity.

"How did your parents die?" He asked, in that same matter-of-fact tone that she had used.

"They were riding together with a group of messengers to Arnor and orcs ambushed them. Sauron's power was on the rise then, and they were overwhelmed."

"Is that why you staid?" He said.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you stay behind so you could die a mortal death and see them again?"

Something snapped in her mind, a barrier she had been holding up by the thinnest of supports. A torrent of feelings crashed through, things she had resisted thinking about, things she had filed away and hidden, resolving to deal with them later but never fully doing so. To her credit, she did not scream, but her voice did become suddenly cold.

"Certainly not, don't be a fool."

Elden looked stung by this remark, but he said nothing. As the waves crashed over her and began to subside, her anger retreated back into shame. He had asked her an honest question and she had behaved like a scolded child.

"I'm sorry." she said at length. "It was not a foolish question."

"Don't be sorry." Elden said, although his voice betrayed a hint of crossness which said she should had every right be sorry, _thank you very much. _"I know the feeling."

"Probably much better then I do, in fact." Nellas supplied. "My parents are myths to me. You knew one of them well before he died."

Elden shrugged.

"Humans have a way of forgetting the things that hurt them."

They went the next mile or so in silence, before Nellas decided to explain further. She was done playing games with him, trying to coax Elden out of his shell while remaining firmly in hers. It wasn't fair to him.

"I still have the choice, actually, between mortal and immortal life."

He turned to look at her, and she saw in his eyes that animal mixture of awe and envy that all men had when looking upon the face of elven longevity. She returned the look.

"I believe I will have that choice for some time yet, but not forever. My kin have left for Valinor, and their power has gone with them. Their fate is tied to mine. As I continue to walk Middle Earth my own power will wane, fading as theirs fades from memory. Now is the age of men."

"Is it now?" Elden said, as though he was highly skeptical of the pronouncement.

"It is." Nellas said firmly. "The fourth age of Middle Earth belongs to the race of men."

"What you mean to say is that the fourth age of Middle Earth belongs to some men. The fourth age belongs to the rich, the powerful. The fourth age belongs to men like King Éomer and King Ellesar, at the head of their great host. The rest of us must fend for ourselves, as we have always done."

This struck her as a bit ungrateful, but she could understand the sentiment. The edicts of scholars had little immediate effect on the short and bitter lives of the common folk.

"You said your power is waning?"

"Yes." She said.

"Does that mean you are a sorceress who can wield magic?"

She almost laughed aloud at the question. Elden was describing in terms of a club what should rightly be understood as a song; the echoes of a beautiful melody that still reverberated, waiting to be changed or altered slightly to achieve the singer's ends.

"Yes, I was trained in Lothlorien and have no small amount of skill, but it is a talent shared by all elves to some degree."

"I figured as much. Statues don't get up and move on their own without a good deal of magic."

"I do not understand what humans mean when they use the word 'magic'. They seem to use the same word to refer both to the power of the elves and to the deceits of the dark ones."

"If something happens, which by all rights should be impossible, that's magic." Elden said.

"A very broad definition, to be sure. To a person who is blind, is not the gift of sight a magic?"

Elden was silent for a moment, and she could almost see the wheels turning behind those blue eyes.

"I suppose so."

The Great East Road led them on inexorably, through the swampy barrens that abut the Trollshaws and over the Last Bridge, a title that struck Nellas as pretty presumptuous. They left the road as it grew dark, at Elden's insistence. They had passed no travelers that afternoon, and far in the distance she could see the bald crown of Weathertop. They made camp in a shallow culvert some ways from the path, giving them a direct line of sight up and down it, yet concealing them behind a thick stand of brush. Elden also insisted that they make no fire, as they were still very close to the road and there were always prying eyes about. There was a small disagreement over who would take first watch, with Nellas finally winning out on the argument that her eyes were sharper and that her circadian rhythm was more of a suggestion than a hard and fast rule. Elves and sleep had a curious relationship.

It was an argument in vain, however, as the sound of cart wheels and harsh voices alerted them both soon afterward. There were orcs on the road.


	7. A Road to Travel

A harvest moon shone down on the landscape like a beacon. Amidst the dense blackness of the trees on either side, the road cut through the night, outlining a group of singularly ugly shapes pulling a cart down the road. The cart was very old and creaked loudly. It looked like it had once been drawn by horses and used to stack firewood or crops. A fabric tarp was draped over it, obscuring its contents.

The goblins, for they were goblins pulling the cart, were arguing amongst each other in the way that goblins do: all at once. This, combined with the brusque pace their clubbed, hairy feet were setting made their breath steam in the cold air.

"Mizz Bones won't be happy when she finds out we're not coming back wiv da haul."

"Yeah, but by den she'll be too far away to do anyfink about it, won't she?"

"But we wez getting on nice with her, wasn't we? Mizz Bones was the right sort, she puts food in our bellies."

"Iffen you think that 'orrible porridge to be food, yer welcome to turn back. I wants meat! Fresh meat!"

Underneath a tarp in the cart, two figures clutched held each other close. One of them was crying. Noah was five years younger than his sister Maize, but he was the gentlemen in the situation and thus had to keep up appearances, even if said situation was grim, which it was. They had been only a few paces beyond the bounds of the village, splitting firewood in a small grotto. He'd heard his sister scream, and turned around to find two goblins snatching at her arms. Before he'd had time to do more than raise his axe and shout, he had been hit by something blunt and hard right between the shoulder blades and his body had crumpled like a marionette cut free from its strings. They had both been placed in the cart and the rest of the time since then had been spent in terror and shame, feeling the bumps as the wheels went over them and wondering where it was that they would stop turning.

Just as he was considering their options for escape for the millionth time, several things happened in quick succession.

There was a hiss and a thunk, and the cart ground to a halt. The goblins had time for a few bellowed curses before something fell upon them. The fight lasted less than a minute, but both of them would remember that sound for the rest of their lives: the unmistakable sound of steel against flesh.

When the commotion had died down, there was a deep, penetrating silence, broken only by the sound of footfalls. The tarp was pulled back, and Noah prepared himself to die. Instead of the ugly face of an orc, however, a pair of deep gray eyes fixed him, and suddenly he knew that he wouldn't need to fight.

The figure was tall and imposing, but not in a bad way. She smiled, and held out a pale hand. The other hand, he noticed, was clutched around the pommel of a sword.

"It is safe now. You may come out."

Maize stopped crying and accepted the proffered hand, allowing herself to be helped out of the bed of the cart. Noah followed, not taking his eyes off of the woman.

"Are you an angel?" He asked, reverently.

For some reason this made the woman laugh.

"Absolutely not." came another voice, and Noah looked over to see that the woman had a companion.

He was a young man, not much older than the farmhands his uncle served at the bar. His hair was dark and untamed, and the front of his tunic was thickly stained with orc blood.

"Don't mind him, young one. How old are you? What are your names?" she said, and something about that voice made him believe that he could trust her.

"I'm Noah." Noah said. "Noah Butterbur. This is my sister Maize. I'm twelve, and she's five years older."

Gravel crunched underfoot as the young man began dragging the bodies out of the road and lined them up neatly in the ditch. A horse was poking its head out of the treeline. At first it had looked like a branch, as it was rather skinny and black as pitch.

"Look at that, Smoke." The young man said, his tone whimsical. "The finest the black land has to offer. This one even has a gold tooth. I didn't know orcs had dentists."

He bent down, prying open the jaw of one of the goblins with a knife.

"How did they get you Noah?" the woman said, trying to distract him from the macabre sight.

Noah wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. He felt the events of the past day weighing on him, and he very much wanted to cry, but he didn't, seeing as he was still the gentlemen in the situation, and his father had always told him that gentlemen don't cry, especially not when a lady is present.

"I was chopping wood with my sister and they snuck up on us. I tried to beat them off, but I wasn't strong enough."

His restraint finally gave way and he began crying. Big, fat tears rolled down his face. It was Maize's turn to put an arm around him.

"Shh, it's alright. Dad would have been proud of you."

* * *

A cloud passed in front of them moon, and it began to drizzle. Elden wrenched the molar free at last and slipped it into a pouch at his waist.

"We should wait here until morning. There's no telling how many more are out there."

Nellas helped him remove the tarp from the cart and set it up underneath a tree by the roadside opposite of where the corpses lay. As she did so, her hood slipped off.

"You're not an angel... you're an elf!"

Nellas turned to see Maize and Noah staring at her in wonderment. She felt a little odd, being looked at as though she were a rare creature at the zoo.

"My name is Nellas, and this is Elden." Nellas said.

"Wait, did you say your last name was... Butterbur?" Elden said.

"Yes. Barliman takes care of us now." the little boy said.

"That's a powerful coincidence. My father took me to Bree often, he was good friends with Mr. Butterbur. We used to stay at the Prancing Pony at the end of every harvest season."

"Can we please go back now?" Maize said, looking around anxiously.

"Not tonight I'm afraid. It's too dark, and from the looks of things it's about to start raining much harder."

"You two can take my bedroll," Nellas said. "I will keep watch until dawn."

"Are you sure?" Elden said, even as the size of the raindrops increased dramatically.

"Yes. Get some rest. I'll wake you when its time to head out."

He didn't need telling twice. The two children bedded down underneath the tarp, Elden spreading out his cloak on the roots and taking the far corner. It looked pretty uncomfortable, but he was soon fast asleep.

Nellas stood their in the dark, feeling the rain drip down her ears and the flat of her blade, watching the three humans slumber. Maize and Noah were curled up together like two rats from the same litter. It was a touching sight, but somehow she felt she was apart from it, as alien to them as the moving statues had been to Elden.

"Angel..." she murmured quietly, to herself.

* * *

The morning was cold and wet for all of them, and nobody spoke much. Elden cooked up his last remaining rabbit and gave the resulting soup to the children, who thanked him and put it away with gusto. The bodies were still lying in the ditch on the other side of the road, six of them, some lying face up and others face down like gruesome dominoes. He had considered dragging them farther off the path, but decided that they might save some lives if he left them as a warning to travelers.

A decision was made to take the cart with them, so as to avoid having to double up and tire out the horses. Surprisingly, Aini was much more amenable to this than Smoke, who Elden suspected had been a stud and not much else before being rescued from his life of inanity. With some convincing, however, they got him yoked up, and they were off. Everyone was exhausted, and so a large part of the journey was passed in silence. Weathertop got larger and larger until they passed it on their right around noon.

From there the road wound gently through the swamps of Midgewater and cut through the trees, until at last they rounded a bend around late afternoon and Bree came into sight. It hat grown a great deal since the end of the war, being at the crossroads of several trade routes that only got bigger once the shadow of Sauron was banished. The streets were better paved and there were several more lanes of houses. There was a large grain storehouse on the low hill overlooking the village, and a mill turned beside it. Another one was going up close by, the workers taking their lunch break in the scaffolds, hairy feet dangling over the edge as they laughed, ate and puffed away on corncob pipes.

Bree might have gotten a bit bigger, but it still had that same sleepy personality that Elden remembered. The Prancing Pony hadn't changed a bit either, even the paint on the sign was the same. The front gate was left wide open for them, and they unhitched the cart outside and left their horses with the groomsman. Noah and Maize raced inside, being unable to contain themselves any longer. Elden and Nellas exchanged a glance before following. She hadn't attracted any undue attention so far, but in Elden's experience there were always eyes watching, and just because they were the twinkling eyes of a farmer sitting on his stoop did not mean the information wouldn't find itself being repeated.

The bar was less than half-full, a collection of regulars and people who couldn't find work or simply didn't wish to. He thought he recognized some of the same faces that he had when he accompanied his father. Barliman Butterbur had been standing behind the counter looking rather haggard, but his expression changed instantly once he caught sight of the children. They rushed to him and embraced in a titanic hug that nearly bowled the poor innkeeper over entirely.

"Noah! Maize!"

Several tears rolled down his ruddy cheeks. His expression of joyous relief soon turned to wonderment.

"But how... We found the tracks..."

"Those people helped us, uncle." Maize said. "Elden and Nellas. They killed the orcs and saved us from being eaten!"

Barliman looked up at them at last, his gaze wide-eyed.

"Well... I don't rightly know what to say. Thank you! You're welcome to a room for as long as you're staying."

"That is very kind of you," Nellas said, "but we are only here to pick up supplies."

At this Elden jumped in, because he had never been one to turn down hospitality.

"Well hold on just a moment, I reckon we'll be staying at least tonight. I'd like to sleep in a warm bed and drink some of Butterbur's famous ale!"

"You know I could swear I know you from somewhere, lad..." Barliman said, his brow creasing.

"My father used to stay here for a week every fall."

"What was his name?"

"Ceorl. Son of Aldor."

The innkeeper slapped a hand against his forehead, leaving a shining imprint behind.

"Ah! Yes, I do remember you! Barely old enough to see over the counter as I recall, and I don't often recall as anyone around here will tell you." He said, tapping his temple with a knowing grin. "Absolutely terrible memory. Maize, go make up a room for these fine people. Noah, fetch some mugs if you would. Please, please, have a seat."

They sat down at the high stools by the bar. Barliman was a veritable fountain of information and did most of the talking, with Elden breaking in with a comment here and there, when it was possible. The young boy was back almost instantaneously with two mugs of cider. He handed one directly to Nellas, beaming it her with his snaggletooth smile that she couldn't help but return.

"Thank you Noah, you can go and play now." Barliman said, taking an opportunity to tousle the boy's hair before he raced off. "Delightful souls, aren't they?"

"They are indeed." Elden said, taking a swig.

"It was a damn shame what happened to my brother and his wife. They were in the prime of their life too. I never expected I would have to be a father as well as an innkeeper."

"Life has a funny way tossing you things you don't expect."

"Don't it just?"

Elden took a large gulp. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nellas do the same and nearly choke. It was all he could do to keep from bursting out laughing.

"It's a rare compliment to have an elf take notice of my brew." Barliman said, chuckling.

"Keep your voice down." Elden growled, the mirth suddenly gone from his voice.

His sword was slung upside down on his back, the handle peeking out from underneath the bottom right corner of his rucksack. His hand reached instinctively down to his waist.

"No harm done, young master. The fact that you are in company of an elf will soon have slipped my mind, believe me."

"I hope so." Elden replied, glancing back over at the occupied tables. Nobody was watching them, but there was still the chance that they had overheard.

"My apologies Elden, but if you'd intended to bring... Nellas, was it? If you'd intended to bring Nellas into Bree without drawing attention to the fact that she was an elf, you might have wanted to dress her in some more lady-like clothing."

"What ever do you mean?" Nellas inquired, looking down at the breaches she was wearing underneath the folds of the large traveling cloak.

"I only mean that it's not often you see a lady in pantaloons, beggin' your pardon ma'am. As long as you're staying in my care, I wont hear a single scallywag bother you over it, but you are going to get a few... ungentlemanly looks. Not everyone I serve here has a full mastery of manners."

"I am quite capable of surviving ungentlemanly looks, thank you."

* * *

After that little speed-bump the conversation was much more amiable, but still very one sided. Elden drifted away with his mug, joining a craps game at one of the regular's tables and loosing a bit of money to ingratiate himself. Nellas continued to listen to Butterbur prattle on about this and that. She listened intently and nodded at all the right parts. She didn't find it at all tiresome. It was nice to meet someone who seemed to want to tell you as much of what was going on in the world as possible, it was such a drastic change from elven society, where you were only told something if you were meant to know.

"I keep hearing wild tales of rings and battles, don't rightly know what to believe, but bless my beer, one thing I do know is that the King of Gondor used to drink in this very pub!"

This genuinely peaked her interest, and it must have showed because Barliman nodded solemnly, as though trying to show the truth of the tale through the gravity of it's delivery.

"Yes, it's true! I knew him by "Strider" then of course, but later he turned out to be some bloke name Aragorn who turned out to be some bloke named Ellesar who was also a long lost heir... or something. It's all very complex. Good fellow, always liked him, always paid his tab." Barliman said, as though this last bit was the most important part.

"What about the Shire?" Nellas asked.

She had heard a great deal about the place, especially in recent years. The fact that it had been a hobbit who had at last succeeded in destroying the great shadow where so many others had failed intrigued her to no end. She had seen several halflings wandering around, and she had been rather hoping to pay the Shire a visit while they were out this way.

"The Shire's been having nothing but good luck these past few years under Mayor Gamgee, excluding the present trouble with orcs, of course, one great planting season after another."

"Trouble with orcs?"

"Orcs, aye, and more than orcs: strangers, foreigners, people from far-off parts. The end of the war seems to have shaken the glass and set them all adrift, so to speak. There's all manner of… _unusual_ folk passing through who don't say much about who they are, where they've been or where they're going, yourself included ma'am, if you don't mind me noticing." Butterburr said, absentmindedly cleaning the inside of the mug with a filthy dishrag. "No, the Rangers of the North patrol the borders of the Shire more heavily now, at the request of Mr. Gamgee and Stri- I mean King Ellesar, excuse me. Anyone who isn't a halfling will certainly be stopped, and even if you sneak in, folks in the Shire are an observant lot. I doubt you'll be allowed in without a thorough accounting of yourself and your intentions, if at all, so if you're wanting to avoid that, avoid the Shire."

"What about the orcs, though?" Nellas pressed. "I thought they fled when Sauron was destroyed?"

Barliman shrugged.

"I guess these lot didn't get the message. The hills are infested with them, and it's only gotten worse in the past few months. I lock my doors at night now. There's rumors that humans are helping them, and something about a "Miss Bones". I don't know how much is bona fide and how much is just talk, mind you. An innkeeper has to take what he hears with a grain of salt."

There was a collective groan from the table behind, and Nellas turned to see Elden sweeping up a not-inconsiderable pile of coin.

"Luck of the draw, gentlemen! Don't worry, I'll give you all a chance to win it back... after I go make some purchases."

Elden stood and left the bar, presumably off to go get supplies.

"I think I will go see about the room." Nellas said, politely. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Barliman smiled and raised a mug in a strange sort cross between a toast and a salute. She walked down the dusty hall to the only open door. The furnishings were spartan to say the least. One bed, a small carpet, a dresser stained with the imprint of many mugs and a set of curtains that framed a rather grimy window. It was through this window that Maize was staring, watching Elden's back grow smaller and smaller as he walked to the marketplace. The expression on her face was rather besotted.

"Thank you, Maize, for tidying up."

"Hmm?"

The girl turned.

"Oh, of course. I should be thanking you really. I thought I was going to die in that cart, or somewhere near it."

Like a magnet, her eyes seemed to be drawn back to the window, through which Nellas could see Elden standing in the street, talking to someone.

"He's a dodger, and no mistake." She said, simpering.

"What is a dodger?" Nellas asked, perplexed.

"You know... a dodger, a geezer, a good old boy." She said, clearly amused by the fact that this world wise elf was being confounded by a child. "He sleeps under the stars, answers to no one, and takes liberties with any daughter he lays eyes on. I know the type, they come around here occasionally, always in a hurry to outpace the spread of their reputation, wherever that leads them."

"I don't know about all that. He is certainly is... resourceful." Nellas said, watching him stride away brusquely, out the gate and into the village beyond.

"And handsome." The niece added, dreamily.

The elf thought she had a point, but she didn't say so out loud. She staid up late into the night reading and had just turned out the light when Elden returned, rascally drunk. He took his place on the carpet without argument and fell asleep quicker than she did, the purchased supplies piled neatly by the door.


	8. As Fast as You Can

**(A/N: Sorry for the lag in my normal tempo. This chapter needed to be a bit longer and better thought out than the others.)**

Nellas woke late the next morning. The room smelled like alcohol. She rolled over and saw Elden curled up in a ball, snoring gently. She peeked out of the hall and, seeing no one, went to the counter. Barliman was there, counting coins with Noah. The child smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"Excuse me, is there some place that I can bathe?"

Barliman pointed back the way she had came.

"Last door on the right."

She followed these directions and found a small room with several pails of clean water set out, and a bar of soap on a shelf on the wall. She undressed and scrubbed herself thoroughly, letting all the dirt and grime of the road wash off of her and down the grate in the center of the floor. Satisfied that she was as clean as she was going to get, she put her clothes and shoes back on and returned to the room to find Elden sorting through his purchases and packing them into his bag. His eyes had large rings under them, but he was as alert as ever. There was a new knife and fire striker lying on top of a pair of blankets that also looked new. Elden himself was wearing what looked like brand-new clothes, a crisp white tunic and trousers, with a thick jacket with buttons hanging on his bony shoulders. The jacket was made of some kind of hide, and looked a lot like leather. A large hunk of bread was in his hand, and between bites he tossed her a woolen cap.

"What is this for?"

"Your ears." Elden said. "People in this town might not ask too many questions, but where we're going, that's not the case."

"And where are we going?" Nellas asked, placing the cap beside her and sitting down on the bed.

"Anywhere you like." Elden replied. "But first, we're going to Archet."

"What is it you expect to find in Archet?"

Elden looked up at her, and she got the feeling he was making a calculation.

"My sister, possibly."

"Your sister?"

Nellas had never heard him say one word about a sister. He looked down again and continued packing, the hunk of bread finished.

"She was very young when she left home, hardly fourteen. It was right after my mother died so I don't have any memories of her. She sent several letters, and the last one said she was living in the Bree-land, in a place called Archet."

Nellas didn't have much to say to this. She couldn't object to a sentiment like that, and though there were other places to go, right now it was better to be gracious and let Elden continue to think he "called the shots", as the boy put it.

"You should give yourself a wash before we go. Barliman-"

"-has a couple buckets of freezing dishwater and a wad of cow fat that barely rates as soap. I'll wait till we find a stream and use my own. Nobody in Archet is going to take offense for my smelling of sweat and cider, quite the opposite."

"You bought soap?" Nellas said, somewhat incredulous.

"I bought a lot of things. I was feeling flush after cheating those saps at cards."

As soon as the words had passed his lips, he froze. It was a momentary thing, but she could tell he had let something slip.

"You cheated them?" She asked, trying to keep her tone as neutral as possible.

"Beating. I meant to say beating." He muttered, closing the clasp on the pack and shouldering it. As he stood up from a crouch, something slipped out of his shirt and hit the floor with a strangely vibrant tinkle.

The ring.

Elden immediately snatched it up, examining the chain closely.

"The latch snapped..."

"Then put it in your pocket, we should be going."

After a short goodbye in which Noah gave Nellas's legs a bear hug and Barliman promised them a room any time they stopped in and he remembered who they were, they set off with their horses, avoiding the main thoroughfare and trailing along the eastern hedgerows. When there was a break, they slipped through it.

The Chetwoods were primarily a forest of oak, and despite much logging on the outer edges, they still had a depth about them that made them foreboding. Elden had his pipe clenched firmly in his teeth.

"I didn't know you had a sister." Nellas ventured.

"For a long time, neither did I. My father didn't talk about her much, and I knew enough not to ask, but people filled in some of the gaps for me."

It was a strange concept to her, having a sibling you didn't know about, but then again elves had a long lifespan and when you lived for several hundred years in one place, you met everyone. After a few more miles in silence, Elden stopped and dismounted.

"I have to take a leak."

Nellas stepped off Aini and leaned against a tree while Elden crashed off into the brush. She considered what Elden had said earlier.

_Where are we going? Anywhere you like._

Where was it in the whole world that she wanted to go? She had a strange compulsion to go back to Lorien, to walk among the trees and see what had become of her kin's settlement. Were their houses and the same protection as Imladris? This line of thought was interrupted by a blade at her throat, and a calm female voice in the common tongue.

"Freeze, elf."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a slim brown hand snake around and check her pockets. They were empty. There was a rustling, and Elden appeared out of the trees, in a similar predicament. A man with a swarthy complexion and dark, beady eyes had the human at his mercy.

"Have you got her, love?" The man said.

"I do." The voice behind her replied in a thick accent.

"What are a bunch of greasy southerons doing robbing travelers?" Elden said, indignantly.

"None of your business." The man said, pressing the knife tighter against his throat. "Check the elf's pack darling."

The woman did as she was told, but she needed two hands to do so, and the moment she removed the knife from Nellas's throat she spun around and grabbed the thief's wrist, twisting the knife behind her back in a half-nelson. The woman cried out in pain and dropped the knife. Seizing on the moment of surprise, Elden elbowed his captor hard in the gut and crouched down. He grabbed the southerner around the waist and flipped the smaller man over his shoulder, slamming him onto the dusty road. Immediately he set about beating him senseless, and by the time she pulled him off there was a rich flow of blood trickling from his nose.

"Enough!"

"He tried to rob us!"

"He failed. Let it go."

The woman ran over to her partner, who was struggling to get up. Both of them wore a set of rusted and pitted corslets underneath their robes that consisted of little more than two iron plates bolted together. Nellas towered over them, her sword suddenly in hand, although no one had seen or heard her draw it.

"As you can see, we have spared both of your lives. Make good use of them."

The woman mouthed something that looked like "thank you" and the both of them sprinted away up the trail, leaving them and the horses alone. Elden massaged his neck where the edge had pressed against his bare skin.

"That was close."

"It was. We should be more careful. Do you still want to go to Archet?"

Elden nodded.

"I doubt they'll try it again. Highway robbers don't survive by hitting the same mark twice."

So they proceeded on along the trail. Nellas reached into her saddle-bag and donned the cap Elden had given her. It was hot and scratchy, but she had realized the necessity of it. In time they rounded a bend, and Archet came into view. It was not much of a town, more like a collection of closely group shacks. The only two story building was the saloon, and it leaned crazily to one side, as though it too was drunk on the foul brews served within. Several pairs of eyes followed them even as they carried on whispered conversations. Elden ignored them and made straight for the saloon. They tied their horses to the post outside and fervently hoped that no one would try to steal them.

"Stick close to me. This place can get ugly quickly."

"It looks like it already has..." Nellas said, surveying the heavily patched clothing and toothless grimaces.

This bar was much more crowded than the one in Bree. It seemed that most of Archet was inside the building, drinking, shouting and gambling. A haze of smoke stung her eyes, and she wondered how anyone managed to actually inhale the stink without vomiting.

As they moved through the press of bodies, someone bumped against Elden, who muttered a curse. She saw the greasy-haired man look back, but he offered no reply and went to sit in the corner with his mug. They made their way to the counter and Elden slapped down two copper coins. The rotund barkeep eyed them with his one good orb.

"Drinks are one coin."

"So they are. I'd like a drink and some information."

The barkeep swept the coins into his apron.

"Since there's two copper here and I'm in charitable mood, I'll let you ask two questions. Anything more and I'll require extra."

"Naturally." Elden said.

He seemed well versed in the affairs of common folk, and apparently a coin-operated memory was a standard feature.

"First, who is that mangy looking prick in the corner who has been staring at us since we sat down?"

"The whole pub has been staring at you since you sat down." The barkeep replied. "You're an odd pair of fish."

Nellas resisted the urge to crane her neck around, but elves have ways of looking at something without appearing to look at it. The man in question was seated in the far corner, and he was indeed watching them intently. So intently in fact, that he neglected to blink. It was the same man who had bumped into them.

"Yes, but the others are returning to their drinks. This man doesn't seem to be interested in his anymore."

The barkeep sighed as though remembering something unpleasant.

"That's Bill Ferny. He's a rotten piece of work an' nobody likes him, even here. Despite his nastiness, he has even nastier friends who keep him out of trouble. I would steer clear of him if you want to live a long and fruitful life. Does that answer your question?"

"Satisfactorly, yes. My second question is if you have heard of a woman called Beorna. She would have arrived here some years ago, not much older than I am now."

"Aye, she was here." The man replied. "But she's not anymore. She fell in with a rough crowd and left, about a year and a half back. Haven't heard hide nor tail of her since."

Elden looked genuinely disappointed, but thanked the man anyway. They were able to get out again without any trouble, but Elden stopped on the stoop and grasped at his pocket. A look of shock and rage donned on his face so intense it almost made her flinch.

"What is the matter?"

"The ring. It's gone."

Without another word, he disappeared back into the bar. She waited for him several minutes, but when he reappeared he still wore the look.

"He's gone. I can't find him anywhere."

A familiar voice made them both turn round.

"Are you waiting for Bill Ferny as well?"

It was the southron woman, leaning against the wall.

"What's your interest in him?" Elden said angrily.

"He owes us money."

Just then the southron man appeared around the corner, his steed in tow. His nose was now bandaged awkwardly, and he looked terrified at the return of his would-be marks.

"Relax Durus. They are after the same person we are."

"I saw him going north on a beaten-down old pony. If we hurry we can catch him."

Elden looked like he would enjoy nothing more than to argue, but he did not.

"Go. We'll meet you on the road."

The two southrons jumped onto their horse and sped away. Elden untied Smoke and hopped up, pulling his bow from where it was lashed to the saddle bag and restringing it.

"We must find the ring." Nellas said. "It is bad enough that you came to possess it. Someone like Bill Ferny could wreak havoc with it, or give it to someone who would use it for evil ends."

"Then mount up. I can't put an arrow between his shoulder blades while we're standing here in town."

* * *

Surad crouched in the dust, straddling the trail carefully to avoid sullying it with her own footsteps.

"I don't like this, love. Why did you invite them along?"

"Because they obviously know how to handle themselves, and because they want to catch that wretched little man just as much as we do. The enemy of our enemy is our friend." she said.

"We could have let them go empty-handed and taken the ring ourselves." Durus said.

"Yes, we could have." Surad replied, impatiently. "But we didn't. We owe them our lives. Have you already forgotten the ways of the Haradrim?"

"The shifting sands are a long way away, my dear. This is a strange land, with strange customs."

"That may be, but it does not mean we must become strange as well."

It was very curious for Bill Ferny to leave town right after stealing something. Usually he would brag a bit, or try to pawn it for drinking money, but instead he had taken that poor little pony of his and left, as though some pressing errand had come to mind as soon as he had seen that ring. She wondered what it was worth. Probably a lot. She had to admit, she was also tempted by the idea of setting off ahead and taking the ring for themselves, but it was too late for that now.

The human and the elf arrived only a minute later. They made a truly odd pair. The human was tall and thin, with dark hair to match his horse. He clutched a bow and arrow between the fingers of his right hand, and the reins in the left. Were she less well versed in the ways of the northern tribes, she might have pegged him as a man of Gondor, but the high cheekbones and the complete ease with which he sat in the saddle gave him away as a descendant of Rohan. Surad would never forget those features, or the characteristically blue eyes. She had seen a whole host of those eyes throw themselves at a line of Mumakil without once pausing to consider their own death.

The elf was a head shorter, but her horse easily made up the height difference. The black cap that had poorly concealed her distinctive ears was gone, and amidst the billows of her cloak Surad could see the sword that she had brandished earlier. She was golden-haired and abundantly beautiful, and the way she carried herself suggested royalty.

Surad climbed up behind Durus in the saddle and pointed into the woods.

"He's gone off the trail, straight north like an arrow. He knows where he is going."

"Does he know we are following him?" The elf asked.

"He soon will." Durus replied, and dug the pointed heels of his boots into the horse.

They galloped along where their route allowed, Surad leaning over the side precariously and occasionally calling a halt to reexamine the trail. It was easy enough to follow. Bill Ferny's pony had left a barrel-shaped trail of broken twigs, upturned rocks and the hoof-prints of a being that was clearly suffering from poorly-shod feet. As the afternoon wore on and the trail did not deliver them Mr. Ferny, she could feel the impatience of the young man growing exponentially. Perhaps now was a good time for introductions. When next they stopped, Surad drew even and shook his hand.

"My name is Surad. This is Durus, my betrothed."

"The pleasure is all mine, of course" The man said sarcastically. "I'm called Elden and this is Nellas. Now can we please find this pig and stick him?"

Surad couldn't help but grin, which only seemed to further annoy Elden.

"I intend to, my friend, but I am wondering what this ring is worth to you. Have you promised it to this fine young lady here?"

Nellas seemed to find this jest funnier than Elden.

"I am hardly young by your reckoning."

"Never mind what it is!" Elden said, with the air of a man coming back to the point after a trivial digression.

"I want it back, and that will suffice for the time being."

"Fair enough." Surad replied, and they continued on.

Eventually the elf mentioned that she could hear someone up ahead, and Surad gave the signal for them to transition into a walk. Nellas conveyed in whispers what her unnaturally sharp ears could pick up.

"It is difficult to tell what he is saying... there is a lot of muttering. Something about "that old bitch Miss Bones"... I cannot be sure..."

"Then we should be extra careful." Durus said. "We've heard tell of Miss Bones. She's the leader of the orcs in these mountains. Nobody has ever seen her and lived, but they say she's a white-skin, like you, and a witch to boot."

"If nobody has ever seen her and lived, how do "they" know what she looks like?" Elden said.

Durus opened his mouth as if to provide an answer, but none came, and he shut it again almost as quickly.

Soon the humans in the company could hear the sounds of Bill's diatribe too, as well as the soft clip-clop of his clumsy steed. They all slid from their saddles and crept forward. Just ahead the Chetwoods finally began to dissipate, giving way to the rolling grasslands that were typical of this strange country. Beyond that, the plains folded into rolling hills, and behind those, the mountains lurked, sticking up out of the ground like jagged teeth. Bill's pony was wandering among the trees, seemingly in no hurry.

Surad looked to her left just in time to see the young northerner notching an arrow and drawing the string back with steady hands.

"What are you doing?" She hissed.

Too late. The arrow flew and embedded itself in the pony's neck. The beast cried out in a terrible wheezy bellow and dumped Ferny like a sack of potatoes. The sack grew legs and began to scurry.

"After him!" Elden shouted, but it was easier said than done.

The brush was still fairly thick, and here and there there were rocks that slowed their progress greatly. When they finally emerged from the thicket, Bill Ferny had put his gangly legs to considerable use and was sprinting up into the mouth of a valley. They pounded across the short stretch of grass that carpeted the distance between the forest and the foothills before being impeded once again by rocks. The debris ranged from boulders the size of houses to thin layers of shale that crunched and cracked underneath their horses' feet. The mouth of a valley that had looked gentle and sloping from the shade of the forest quickly turned into a steep ravine with a narrow path on either side leading up to a higher bluff out of sight where the grass once again found purchase among the accumulated soil and rock.

They kept to the left, climbing steeply until the land leveled off. The plains were much sparser up here. Tufts of hardy grasses elbowed their neighbors and jostled for a space between the cracks in which to grow. To their right the valley petered out in a sheer cliff and the level ground continued until it came to the backside of the foothills, a pale stretch of rock far less weathered and seemly than the front. It looked rather like a snail that has been pulled from it's shell, one patch of skin much lighter than the rest. The backside of the foothills and the first fingers of the North Downs formed another valley, this one wider at the bottom.

An unearthly whistle rose out of the wind and they saw Bill Ferny still running for his life towards this second valley, his dirty blonde hair whipping to and fro. An answering cry came from the northeast, and soon it found friends. The air was alive with the cries of wargs.

"We have to follow him, quickly!" Elden shouted.

Surad wanted to protest that he should hardly be giving directions as he was the one that had fouled the shot in the first place, but there was no time for quibbling. The pale rocks were mottled with moss and lichen in the places where the sun touched them longest, and the rainwater seeped in greatest quantity. Right now the sun was hovering above the horizon somewhere to the west. Dusk was minutes away, and some instinct told Surad that they should be running the opposite direction as those mountains, were they people of wisdom. Instead they continued to tear after Ferny, taking the bends in the valley at a gallop. As they rounded another, a very large blackness came into view, a gap in the rock beyond which no light penetrated.

There was no other place Ferny could have gone, and the howls of the beasts on their trail grew louder by the second.

"Well?" Durus said, his eyes raking the lips of the canyon high above, expecting company.

"We have to go in. I will shut the way once we are through so we cannot be followed." The elf said.

"How do you know it goes all the way through?" Surad protested.

She didn't like caves. Not one little bit.

"Would Bill Ferny have gone into a place where a he knew he didn't have an exit?" Elden said, and she had to admit he had a point.

"Alright, but be careful. It could be a trap."

One by one they entered the cave. It was wide enough to admit all four of them abreast, but only after dismounting and coaxing the frightened animals inside. When they had passed the entrance, there was a flash of blinding blue light and an avalanche of rock tumbled over the entrance, leaving them in complete darkness.

"I don't suppose either of you brought torches?" a voice that sounded suspiciously like Elden said, next to her ear.

"Of course not, I wasn't planning on going spelunking!"

Another blue light winked into existence, and then several more. The orbs hovered, and then set about it a slow dance around Nellas, throwing a strange illumination on their surroundings. The rocks grew several shadows, and each danced in turn, growing darker and lighter as they overlapped and split again and again.

Elden, apparently accustomed to this kind of sorcery, moved to examine the walls.

"This is not a natural cave."

"What do you mean?" Surad snapped.

"These passages were cut by picks and blasted out with smokeless fire, like they do in Gondor. I would wager it is a mine, although one that has obviously been long abandoned. Unless I am much mistaken I believe it belonged to my ancestors, the men of the north."

"We should continue." Nellas said. "Ferny will not have wasted any time, and if we loose him, we may just loose our only way out of this place."

Despite her inborn suspicion of anything not human, Surad was beginning to like this elf.

"Aye." Elden replied. "Let's go get that bloody thief."


	9. All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter

It was darker than the backside of a witches arse, and it smelled rather like the same, but Bill Ferny didn't mind. His bulging eyes were accustomed to the dark and dank places of the world, he had spent his whole life rooting around in them. You found useful things down there, money and easy women, items left unattended. There was none of that here, of course. The old silver mine was deceptively simple. The shaft was large, and the light of a greasy oil lantern barely illuminated both walls at once when he stood in the center of the path. It ran heedlessly on, cutting through dirt, rock and red mudstone.

There were dark patches on the walls that looked to be other tunnels, but they all resolved into mere indentations into which the shadow poured, turning each into a gaping maw that crumpled away to reveal the illusion at the last second. Now and then a small bone crunched underfoot or was kicked away by one of his sock-clad toes as they protruded from his shoes.

A horrible, gravely voice was echoing down the corridor. It spoke the black tongue of Mordor, or at least, one of the myriad dialects that the orcs had created amongst themselves after they fled from Sauron's ranks and into the distant, lonely places of the world. Bill Ferny was not afraid of orcs, and sometimes, he actually preferred them. They had rules and limits and dimensions, just like any other beast. Even though he knew little of the Black Speech and didn't care to have it on his tongue if he could help it, many of the cleverer orcs could also speak in the common tongue of men. Not well, but where there was talk there could be bargaining. Orcs were good at bargaining, but a lot of them weren't terribly bright. It was the clever ones you had to watch out for.

His hand reached into his pocket and caressed the handle of something very sharp and very pointy. His little girl. She never failed him. The clever ones had best watch out, because if they weren't paying attention, Big Bad Bill Ferny was gonna get 'em. His fingers brushed against something else as he pulled his hand out of the pocket. It was smooth and round, and he could not ignore it. Ever since it had come into his possession he had started to hear things. Little whispers, too low to be heard.

The orcish voices were getting louder, and before long the passage revealed a pair of orcs standing guard, although it was entirely possible they had simply wandered down here and gotten lost. They were taking part in the orc's favorite past-time besides war: arguing. At the approach of Bill Ferny and his feeble little lantern however, they fell silent.

"Pardon me lads." Bill said and made to walk right between them.

A pair of bladed pikes suddenly shifted themselves into his path and he halted. Orc craftsmanship was not the finest, but it cut a wound that was hard to close, and they spent hours grinding at the damn things with rocks until they were as sharp as scythes.

"Whats a slimy little newt like you doing down 'ere?" The larger one growled, in perfect Westron.

"I'm going to see Miss Bones. She would be awful unhappy if I was waylaid."

"Well isn't that odd-" the other one said, "because we was just thinking how easy it would be to waylay you."

"You're right, it would." Bill said, thinking quickly.

One clever orc was bad enough, two was downright unlucky. Still, it was possible to play the smarter ones off of each other, just like humans.

"But once Miss Bones finds out her present is missing, she'll have you both strung up on hooks and ripped into little tiny bits."

This caused an impression. There was a sideways glance, and he could tell some of the enthusiasm had gone out of them. Miss Bones was a lady whose reputation had gotten around. She was almost a god among orcs in these parts, and closer to a patron saint than Sauron had ever been. The mere invocation of her name imposed order on unruly orcs. Of course, that uncommon obedience was often used to send raiding parties as far out as the Shire, but that was hardly his problem.

"Well this here is a toll road. Pay us a toll." The big orc continued, unperturbed.

"Yeh, pay us a toll!" The smaller on echoed sycophantically.

"I haven't got any money." Bill lied.

"Give us the present then, we'll deliver it!" The larger orc demanded.

Instinctively, Bill's hand slid into his pocket. But it did not stop at the handle of the spike. Instead, something told him he should reach down at place his finger into the ring. He clenched down on it and opened his mouth, preparing a counter-argument that would make sense to an orc, and then... stopped.

Something was different about the world. It was odd. Dull yet shiny. The surface of reality rippled. The two orcs jumped back in surprise, and so did Bill Ferny, because at that moment a voice whispered in his ear, eerie and distant.

_Move past them, before they recover._

He did so, and as he squeezed between the recoiling orcs their gaze did not track with him, instead remaining fixed on some point far down the tunnel in the direction he had come. He continued to walk and got the odd feeling that he could see a lot more than just the walls of the mine. The lantern had been abandoned, as he no longer needed it to see.

_I can feel a great age ending. Bring me out under the starlight._

It would not stop, but he could not take it off. The gold circle felt cold against his flesh. Abruptly, the corridor widened into a roughly-hewn spherical chamber several dozen feet wide. There were scorch marks in the walls where the men had used the blasting powders to send great fissures into the living rock, allowing chunks to be pried out and hauled away. A ghostly figure was standing there, holding a bundle in her arms.

_What did you do Bill. What did you do!? _She screamed at him, and he cowered, but did not stop walking.

"I'm sorry Sally, I'm sorry..." he was murmuring, and there were tears on his greasy cheeks.

Amidst the many blast holes, there was an entrance to another passageway, small and dark. If he had not had the ring, he would have dismissed it for an illusion, but there was not lamplight to cast shadows now, only the world around him and it's strange pulse as it scraped past, one second at a time. The voice was bolder now, and the tone sent strange icy sensations down his spine. It was high and garbled, a rasp on the edge of hearing.

_Do not fear the watchers ahead, they cannot touch you._

It struck him that he liked it much better when the ring was only whispering inaudibly, and then a moment later he realized that he still had it on. He pulled it off and placed it in his pocket, and all was pitch black once again. He looked behind him one last time before entering the next passageway, but Sally was gone. Inwardly he groaned, because he was too frightened to make a sound. With his hands, he began to feel his way onwards, towards the other side and the fresh air that he knew was waiting.

First, though, he would have to pass through the tombs.

* * *

Their respite was brief. Instead of making camp they pushed on through the "night", although the outside world was of zero concern to the tunnel's environment. It's path was straight, but gently weaving so that the whole corridor was not in view at once. After only a few dozen paces Nellas claimed that she could hear orc voices, and as they grew closer the rest of them could hear it as well. Elden drew one of his luckier arrows from the slim quiver strapped to his pack. He felt murderously impatient at the moment. Bill Ferny was scrabbling off to devil knew where with his precious ring and they had taken on a couple of Haradrim wastrels to help them "track". As if it wasn't abundantly obvious which way he had gone.

When he calmed himself enough to think about it, the main reason he was angry was his own stupidity. Not only had he waltzed into Archet and allowed a rank amateur to pick his pocket, he had blown an excellent shot. An innocent pony had died, and a pissy little crook had gotten clean away. All his fault. Soon, though, the harsh voices were almost on top of them, and there wasn't time for reflection, only a taught bowstring.

"You were the one that let him get away you useless bag!"

"Don't talk to me about useless, Mordor-scum. You couldn't find a meal if it sat on your lap and bit you."

It sounded like only two, and oddly, they were speaking the common tongue. As their plump heads came into sight, Elden let the arrow fly. The orc didn't even have time to clutch at his face, he simply dropped like a sack of potatoes. Before he could reach back and notch another arrow, Surad grasped her knife by the tips of her fingers and hurled it at the other orc, who was still recovering from the shock of no longer having anyone to argue with.

"That's a nice trick." Elden remarked. "You'll have to teach that to me sometime."

"If we ever get out of this hole alive, it's the second thing I'll do."

"Second after what?"

"Killing Ferny." Surad said with a wolfish grin.

Eli returned it in kind.

"Not if I get him first."

He was starting to relax around them. Staying suspicious took energy, and even without the light of the sun to tell him what time it was, he knew it was late by the leadenness of his limbs. Still, they strove onward. The quarry was close.

The tunnel ran on for a little while longer and then terminated in a very large open space. As Nellas's little balls of light rushed out to fill the space, he saw that above them was a tall and cavernous dome and striped with sparkling veins of ore. Tools and carts half filled with rock lay scattered about, as if the miners of old would return from elevenses any moment to resume work. Into the far wall was set another entrance-way. This one was much more crude than the tunnel that had birthed them. Instead of the smooth, clean fractures made by pick and blasting agent this tunnel looked like it had been gnawed by rats, although orcs was probably a closer guess. A cold wind was blowing ominously out of it.

"Well?" Durus said, looking at Elden.

"I guess we go in... unless you hear something Nellas?"

Nellas shook her head.

"Silent as the grave."

He didn't know whether to be amused that she had used a human turn of phrase, or uneasy because he agreed with her. It was awfully quiet, even for a cave. Still, seeing no other alternative, he forged ahead. Nellas's lights returned to her and bobbed along ahead of him cheerfully.

This tunnel was even straighter and even shorter. Up ahead there was another exit, but still no daylight beckoned. There was barely enough room to squeeze the horses through, but they all managed. Their hooves clacked on something hard and smooth as they came out the other side.

Once again Nellas's magelights swooped out, attempting to bring light to the cavernous room. They were unable to complete their task, but what they did see was enough to make them stop and stare. They were standing on a wide stone ledge above an enormous chasm. The blue lights twinkled below, illuminating massive pillars that rose up all the way to the ceiling far above, cathedral-like. Every inch of wall was covered with pictorials. Men and horses, horses and men. Men with helmets and beards and stern faces. Strange and terrible creatures folding under the onslaught of blows from these stern men, always with the mountains at their back.

On the floor of the chasm lay square caskets in perfectly symmetrical rows from wall to wall.

"What is this place?" Surad said, her voice frightened and fascinated in equal measure.

Before he could reply, Nellas supplied his answer for him.

"One of the great burial grounds of the men of the north. It is very old, even by my reckoning."

"You are all people of the north to us." Surad said.

Elden began to walk forward, and they followed him tentatively, looking all around.

"In the times before Rohan, the men of the north lived in the icy wastes beyond Middle Earth. They followed the great herds down through the valleys, at last settling in the Riddermark. The breeds my kin ride even today are descended from the hardy stock that carried my ancestors to victory."

As he spoke they walked along the suspended causeway that ran above the chasm. It was wide enough for three people to walk abreast, but they instinctively kept to single file with Elden leading the way and the Haradrim bringing up the rear. Smoke walked along beside him, keeping his head down. His ears were twitching wildly, and his eyes were wide.

Suddenly, Elden realized that Nellas's orbs were not the only blue lights. Other things were stiring far below. Indistinct shapes moved between the rows of coffins or circled round the massive load-bearing pillars that upon closer inspection were huge statues of men in chain mail clutching shield and spear.

Then, the silence was broken, and the barrow wights spoke.

_Cold be hand and heart and bone_

_and cold be sleep under stone._

_Never more the dawn to see_

_till the world breaks and washes out to sea._

It was a mournful dirge that echoed from every surface. He glanced back at the group and saw panic beginning to rise in all of them, even the elf. When he looked back, he saw why.

A barrow wight hovered inches from his face. It's sword was pitted and corroded, it's robes little more than rags. Smoke whinnied loudly and turned to move back towards the others, nearly knocking him off the platform. The shade did not seem to notice. A bony hand reached out, and passed through his face without effect. Elden drew his sword, but the wight seemed not to notice. It only stared into his eyes, and he found he could not look away.

_Kinsfolk dear, once I knew_

_rigid bone and fresh sinew._

_Depart you now this cursed land_

_I will not be slain by yours or any hand._

Gradually, fear began to leave Elden, and was replaced by a curious substitute: awe. Slowly he sank onto one knee as though greeting a king.

"We beg forgiveness for disturbing your rest. We are merely travelers seeking a foe who breaks the law that you set down."

When he looked up, the barrow wight was slipping back into one of the columns. Even after his ghostly form had dissipated, the rasping voice carried on echoing for several seconds.

_The darkness stretches, deep and wide_

_many graves, this cavern hides. _

_The one you seek passed this way_

_and departed for the light of day._

"The light of day sounds really good right about now..." Durus whispered in his ear, teeth chattering wildly.

He had to agree. They said not another word to each other until they had crossed the causeway. On either side of the opposite landing was a stairway cut into the wall that went all the way down to the bottom of the chasm. The passage ahead of them led them steeply upwards, with flights of stone steps separated by short stretches of flat corridor with rows of the same stern faced statues on a smaller scale. He could tell it was the way out because the breeze was colder and fresher here. Sure enough, the next two bends in the path revealed the grey light of dawn peeking in from the outside.

Unable to contain themselves they sprinted out to it and rejoiced in the fresh air. The sun's light was just beginning to overcrowd the stars, and they were rapidly fading from sight, one by one. The first snows of winter had fallen sometime during the night, and thick drifts already covered much of the broken landscape. Ahead of them the mountains fell away sharply, with the Weather Hills continuing on their right for another few leagues. Elden had thought for sure that they were already at the North Downs, but apparently he had misjudged. His feet were sore from walking, but strain was no guarantee of distance.

The Downs loomed even higher than the Weather Hills, and at their feet sat the greatest fortress ever built by men, now abandoned to darkness and decay. In the grey light of dawn it appeared out of the dissipating mist like an apparition, its towering walls and spires competing with the Downs for grandeur.

"What is that?" Durus said, pointing.

"Fornost." Elden said. "The Gondor of the ancient world. Perhaps that is where Ferny is running to."

"It certainly seems that way." Surad said, bending down and examining the snow. "His prints are clear as day. It will be easy to find him as long as it doesn't snow too much harder."

"I wouldn't count on it." Elden replied, "But we must rest here a while. I am exhausted."

They all went back to the mouth of the cave. Elden was just about to cast around for a tree to hack kindling from when Nellas pointed at the ground and her little lights converged with a whooshing noise, creating a crackling blue fire that was as warm as the real thing. Although they were tired, none of them slept, they simply rested by the warmth of the blaze. Even the horses folded their legs underneath them and lay down to nap in the strange half-awake way that horses do. Elden lit his pipe and pulled deeply on it, letting the smoke waft upwards to the ceiling. He still wasn't satisfied, and he wouldn't be until they found the ring, but they had made it this far, and that was something.

Durus seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"They should call you ghost-master instead of horse-master."

"I'm a master of many things, barbarian. Horses are just one item on a long list."

"Pah, barbarian yourself!" Durus shot back.

Surad piped up, obviously attempting to head off any brazen words that they would come to regret.

"Are you wanderers?"

Elden glanced at Nellas, who pursed her lips slightly, the elven equivalent of a shrug.

"I... don't know." Elden said, honestly.

"Then you must be." Surad continued. "If you don't have a destination, you are a wanderer. A nomad. My people are nomads by birth, but I must say, this land is a much more interesting place to wander than my home. Harad is mostly flat and dry."

"How long have you been wandering?" Nellas asked.

"Ever since Sauron's army came apart at the Black Gate." Durus said, pulling his mate closer. "She caught my eye as we were fleeing and... well, we've been together ever since."

They kissed hungrily, and for a moment Elden felt very awkward sitting so close to Nellas. Soon though, they broke apart, and the moment had passed.

"Elden has a similar story." Nellas volunteered. "He wandered into Imladris with a pack of his former comrades chasing behind him."

"Did he now? My my, I thought you men of Gondor were all sweetness and light!" Surad said in a teasing tone.

"I'm not from Gondor, I'm from Rohan." Elden retorted, annoyed that they had not picked up on this even after he had explicitly talked about his ancestry.

"What's the difference?" Durus said, almost casually.

There was a stony silence that seemed even more ominous than the grave they had just exited. Even Nellas could feel the tension in Elden's stare. Just when she thought he was about to leap up and strike the Haradrim, he cracked a joke.

"Take a child from Gondor, roll him in straw and muck, and then place him on the saddle and don't let him off until he's a man. That's the difference."

There was a hearty laugh from all of them, perhaps a little louder than the jest warranted. All three of them had seen the look in Elden's eye when Durus had made his comment. The boy took his lineage deadly seriously. Eventually the sun broke the horizon and began to warm their skin. Nellas let her magelight peter out naturally, and they all got up at once without being prompted.

It was time to move on. Surad took him aside while Nellas and Durus checked through their packs to take stock of how many more days worth of supplies they could count on.

"What is it about this ring that you desire so badly?"

Her eyes were serious, but Elden still wasn't willing to tell her the truth. If she knew, then they might have to race two expert trackers to their prey as well as the prey itself.

"It's got... sentimental value to me. I couldn't put a price on it."

She gave him a look that screamed "whatever you say, horse-master", and let him be. Subconsciously he grasped at his collarbone. It felt like there was a hole there, a circular space where the ring belonged, and was no longer.

"Ferny, when I catch you I am going to make the last minutes of your miserable life a living hell..." He muttered, to no one in particular.

The wind snatched his curse away the moment it left his lips and dashed it on the frozen ground.


	10. Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

A thick white blanket lay over the land, and it was getting thicker by the minute. The sweeping plains and fissures were covered underneath snow drifts over a foot deep. A squirrel watched from the safety of it's burrow as four travelers on three horses tried to navigate the terrain, their cloaks blowing in the wind.

They had come down from the hills and were walking straight north, not pausing to look for tracks. The sun that had shone so brightly earlier in the day was fast being choked out by falling particles of ice. Even in the midst of this desolation, Nellas saw life. A white fox bounded easily through the snow, chasing an unlucky hare whose fur still had flecks of brown in it, remnants of its summer coat. The two animals zipped through their company and the horses startled, except for Aini who snorted impatiently at the inexperience of the other two. The trees were few and far between, but the ones that had survived were enormous evergreens, their roots expanding into the cracks in the landscape to drink the melt-water when it flowed out during each thaw. She could tell from the boulders lying about and the way the land had buckled in some places that it was volcanic once, long ago.

At last the going grew so difficult that they were forced to dismount, as the horses were stumbling each time their combined weight forced their hooves into the unpacked snow. It was Elden who suggested it, and they all followed his advice. This didn't do much except transfer the stumbling to them, but Nellas didn't mind. Their steeds deserved a rest after what they had been forced to endure, but they weren't going to get one. Not while Ferny still had the ring, at any rate. Elden seemed to be thinking the same thing, and patted Smoke on his skinny flank, as if to thank him. It was one of his quirks, she had noticed. He was constantly aware of the well-being of their horses, far more than any of them. He treated them as closer to friends than beasts of burden.

Surad and Durus bounded ahead of them, tossing clods of snow at each other and giggling helplessly. It was a remarkable thing to see two grown Haradrim warriors behaving like children. Then again, this was probably their first experience with snow.

Elden said nothing as he followed behind, using their erratic boot-prints as places to step without tripping. For him cold had been a reality since birth, a nuisance and a hazard to be mitigated or avoided. It was impossible to avoid this snow. Even as they walked the sky was getting darker and the wind more fierce. At length, he called a halt, and they obeyed.

"The weather is getting worse. We should make a shelter and wait it out."

"Nonsense, it's just a little powder!" Durus said, spiritedly. "We haven't caught Ferny yet."

"Ferny will be finding a dark hole to curl up in, and so should we. If we don't get out of the storm before it goes completely dark we'll get lost and freeze to death."

"He speaks the truth." Nellas added, because Durus looked ready to argue.

The two did not exactly see eye to eye, she noticed. Perhaps it was because they were both headstrong males, or perhaps it was because their masters had once been mortal enemies, but the resentment was there. Elden went over to a particularly large tree and pulled the woodcutting hatchet from the side of his pack. With it he began to dig the snow away from the trunk until he hit the ground.

"Help me make it wider. It has to be large enough for us and the horses as well."

They obliged, using swords and daggers to chop up the frozen water and push it up around the edge of the pit, creating a berm. As it got wider Elden added a cut in the berm wide enough for a horse to pass through without scraping their heads on the thick lower branches of the tree.

His words proved correct. No sooner had they finished their work than the wind began to blast down from the foothills, chilling them all to the bone. The gentle rain of particles turned into a flurry, and suddenly Nellas was reminded of a collection of snow globes sitting on Barliman's counter back in Bree. She tried not to think of warm beds and greasy human food, and instead coaxed Aini and the other horses inside. It was much easier to direct horses to do what you wanted when you had a Maeras as a go-between. Nellas would simply whisper to her in Sindarian, and the other horses would follow her example, as she was undisputed herd-leader.

They laid blankets across the sharp rocks so that the beasts could lie down, and when they did they leaned against them. Suddenly she was very thankful that they had brought the animals all this way; they were very warm, if a little odorous. The sky outside went almost pitch black. The wind whistled eerily as it covered up the entrance with snow. Underneath the rapidly-increasing burden of snow the branches bowed until they touched the ground, completing the shelter. They were now buried.

There was a string of notes on the edge of hearing, like someone singing a snatch of a long forgotten lyric. Nellas's blue light appeared in her palm. She widened it, and gave it the form of fire before flicking it gently from her hand. It floated down and alighted upon the trunk of the tree without scorching it. The light cast by this solitary fire illuminated the faces of the Haradrim, who no longer looked like they were having fun. They did look grateful for the fire, however. Gradually it melted the remaining slush on the floor and dried out their blankets. Nellas had never in her life thought she would be happy to sleep on tree roots, but they were a better alternative than the rocks where the horses lay huddled together, so she placed her blanket beside the trunk and curled up on it.

The Haradrim remained with the horses and talked among themselves quietly, lying against their dappled mare's warm belly. Occasionally the woman would giggle and the man would smile. She could, of course, hear every word they were saying, but she decided not to snoop.

Something tugged inside her chest.

She had never found the time to fulfill that part of her life. The boys of the Lorien wood in her youth had entertained her, enraged her, and at times thrilled her, but none of them had captured her interest for very long. Her stay at Imladris was a quiet period of study under Lord Elrond, and there had been no time for finding love.

She turned over to see Elden lying on his back at the opposite side of the shelter. Underneath him was a down quilt that he had bought in Bree. His rucksack was lying up against the wall, the bow lashed diagonally along it's length, as it always was. His sword was lying up against the wall, reflecting strange patterns in the light from her fire. As he lay staring up at the ceiling, she saw his lips moving gently, and her sensitive ears caught the words.

_Find the cost of freedom, buried in the ground._

_Mother earth will swallow you, lay your body down._

One by one the humans fell asleep, and a long time afterward, so did she. As she drifted off into the ethereal world of elvish dreams, the blue fire shrunk and finally went out.

* * *

Elden woke to the sound of orcish voices. They were muffled, but audible. He turned over and snatched his sword from where it was leaning against the ice. Nellas was already crouched against the wall, listening. Quietly, he woke the Haradrim and explained what was going on to them as well. They staid silent. During the night the heat of their bodies and the breath of the horses had drastically widened their shelter so that now the berm they had originally created was unreachable. There was barely any light, and what did filter through carried a strange blue tint to it.

* * *

Three orcs stood beside the great tree, doing what orcs do best: argue. Shivering and arguing had kept them warm during the cruel winter months, even if it had led to a few more serious scraps. Things were about to go very wrong for these three, however.

An insistent scratching noise carried above their heated discussion, causing them all to fall silent in turn, one by one.

"Do you 'ere that?"

"Yeh. But where's it comin' from?"

As if to answer this question a hole appeared beneath one orcs feet and he fell away into darkness. There was a scuffling noise, then a thump, and then silence.

Now most creatures, even wild beasts, would have taken that moment to get as far away as possible but the orcs, being possessed of both a dim mind and a morbid curiosity, moved closer. One even peered down the cavity that his partner in crime had just disappeared into. A sinkhole, perhaps?

_No,_ thought the surviving orc as an elvish blade whipped out of the burrow and embedded itself in the curious orc's forehead, _sinkholes don't have pointy things living in them._

He did not get the opportunity to run far, as an arrow whistled out of the hole and relieved him of his earthly worries. For a long moment after that it was silent. The howling of the wind had died away during the night and was replaced by an unnerving calm. Soon enough, a fist protruded through the snow and cleared a space large enough for a horse to squeeze itself through. Four figures and three horses emerged from underneath the very ground like corpses springing back to life. They all looked a bit like corpses too, pale and clammy from the cold and the damp, stiff from sleeping on rocks and roots. The sky was mostly clear of clouds, and not a single flake of snow fell. The landscape was even more alien than they had left it.

It had gotten cold enough to freeze the top layer of ground solid so at least they were able to walk without tripping over their feet. They made no effort to bury the bodies. Orcs were a cheap commodity, they came and went. No one would miss them. Surad and Durus walked ahead of them. They were packing the snow into balls and tossing them at each other once more, the novelty seemingly undiminished by near catastrophe the previous day.

"Hey, aren't you two supposed to be tracking or something?"

Surad looked at Durus.

"Should we? The trail is pretty damn cold." She said, unable to suppress a snigger at her own pun.

"Honestly, I'm over Ferny." Durus said. "He didn't owe us more than a few crowns anyway."

Elden felt his jaw clench in involuntary annoyance. He stalked forward, and Surad's smile faded quickly at the expression on his face.

"If you're over him then you're welcome to find your way back home or wander off to the next adventure. If you really, truly want to find Bill Ferny, however, you should stop skipping and start putting your nose to the ground."

"You should watch how you talk to my girl-" Durus said, getting in Elden's face. "or I'll make you regret it."

Before any of them could blink, Elden had grasped the man by the wrist, spun him around and had a knife at his throat.

"You want to repeat that?"

"Let go of him!" Surad screamed, drawing her own dagger.

Nellas sighed. No wonder none of them lived past eighty. The elf raised her hand and spat a word that cracked like thunder. All three of them toppled over, limp as ragdolls. She stepped gingerly over their helpless forms until they could all swivel their eyes to see her.

"Now that all of you are properly relaxed, you should listen very closely to my words."

They didn't have much of a choice, although she saw Elden roll his eyes defiantly. It made her want to laugh, but that would ruin her demeanor so she suppressed it.

"Bill Ferny is carrying something that is very, very dangerous. If it were to find it's way into the hands of the orcs there is literally no limit to the damage it could cause."

"The ring?" Surad sputtered, regaining some control of her face. Nellas lowered her hand and they all sat up, panting slightly and rubbing their arms. It was a strange feeling, to have your limbs betray you.

"Yes." Elden said. "The ring."

"I knew there was more to that thing then you were letting on." Durus said, still eyeing Elden reproachfully. "What if I want that as payment?"

A dangerous look came into Elden's eyes.

"If that is indeed what you want, you should keep it to yourself, because if I hear the words "I want" and "that ring" in the same sentence, I will kill you and your female companion and leave your body here to be incorporated into the next glacier that comes along. Is that clear?"

Durus turned to Nellas in disbelief.

"And you won't stop him?"

Nellas shook her head.

"I am sorry, it is too important. We will reimburse you fully for your services and then some when this is all over, but you cannot have the ring."

They all sat silent a while, mulling over their situation.

"You could turn back. Elden will give you twenty gold and you can be on your way back to Archet." Nellas said, cutting off Elden's protest with a raised hand. There wasn't any "magic" in the gesture, as the humans called it, but the mere threat of another paralyzation was enough to silence him.

She could almost see the cogs turning behind Durus' thick brow. He turned to Surad, who shrugged.

"I... I think we'll stay with you. We don't know our way back well enough to do it alone, and besides, this is the most fun I've had in ages."

"Well I'm glad SOMEONE is having fun." Elden said, getting up and shrugging off his pack.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to hunt. We won't last long on stale crusts and snow."

"No need." Nellas said, reaching into her own pack and producing several parcels wrapped in grean leaves which she handed to each of them.

The leaves were dried and they crackled as they were removed, but the contents were still as good as they day they were baked over a month ago. Even Elden, who was normally a meat and potatoes kind of person, sat down and ate with gusto.

"This is the best bread I've ever tasted!" Surad exclaimed.

"Thank you. It is lembas bread. I cooked it myself before I left Imladris."

"Where ish tha?" The Haradrim asked, between bites.

"You might now it by a different name. Rivendell?" Nellas said, the human name rolling strangely off her tongue.

Surad tapped her head in a sign of recognition.

"Oh yeah. They told us to steer clear of that place. Is it true that it's haunted?"

Elden and Nellas shared a knowing glance, and he gave her the first grin she had seen on his face since they started their trek. For some reason it made her cheeks feel very hot, and she looked away. Too late. The grin was on her face too.

"Yes, it's absolutely infested with ghostly presences." She said, barely able to contain her mirth.

If the Haradrim detected a joke, they did not inquire further. They all crunched away happily. The bread seemed to be able to reach inside them and pull their spirits up by their stomachs.

_The magic of the elves indeed. _Nellas thought, somewhat proud of herself. A moment ago these same people had been about to scalp one another in front of her very eyes. Then again, perhaps they still could. You could never tell with humans. Especially humans named Elden.

Surad had dropped a piece of bread and had leaned over to pick it up, but she was no longer grasping at that. She was tugging on a small piece of something black that was sticking out of the snow.

It turned out to be just a scrap of oily cloth, but Surad regarded it reverently.

"What?" Nellas asked. "What is it?"

She could see nothing special about the object.

"Ferny came this way, and this is proof." She said with a certainty that seemed to excite even Elden, although he remained outwardly skeptical.

"How is that proof Ferny has been this way?"

The warrior held the scrap gingerly to her nose and sniffed it before recoiling.

"Because it reeks of piss and cheap beer."

"Could be an orc." Elden said.

"Orcs don't wave on looms. Most of their clothes are patched together from things they stole."

Durus gave her head a kiss.

"A good find, my sweet."

"A lucky one, at any rate." Elden said. "I suppose it does mean we're heading the right way."

* * *

"What do you think of them?"

Durus was busy scouring the ground, and so did not react immediately.

"Huh?"

They had split up into two groups to do a brief circle outwards in a search for tracks. Surad had tried to tell them that the storm would have wiped clean any trails, but Elden seemed convinced that they would find something and she had no desire to make him angry again. He was a fellow that struck her as being, well... not wrapped all that tight, to put it politely.

"What do you think of them?" Surad repeated.

The elf and the human were picking through a stand of brush next to a shallow ravine.

"I think they're fucking crazy." Durus replied, echoing her own thoughts.

"Obviously, but I mean what do you think of _them_. Together. As a couple."

Durus snorted.

"How do you figure? She's an elf. He's a human."

"I've heard of it in stories before." Surad replied, defensive of her theory. "Just look at how she acts around him. She's the most powerful creature for a hundred miles in any given direction and yet she hangs on his every word."

Durus shrugged noncommittally.

"Pretty weird relationship if you ask me."

"No kidding."

They worked in silence for another few minutes, but soon Surad sat down to rest on a rock.

"This is useless. If he did leave a trail it's buried under several feet of snow by now."

Durus plopped himself down next to her and threw his arm over her shoulder. Together they watched the elf and the human perusing the ground.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Surad asked, absentmindedly.

"Probably what to do with us."

* * *

"What are we going to do with them?"

"Nothing." Nellas said firmly. "They're good people. It doesn't matter why they're following us."

"It's pretty obvious why, though. They want the ring for themselves."

"You don't know that."

"You heard- hey, what is that?" Elden said.

Nellas whipped around. Not many things warranted enough importance for Elden to stop mid-sentence to address them. Her eyes followed his finger, which was pointing down at the bottom of the ravine.

"Well I will be damned..." Nellas said, awkwardly deploying another one of the human expressions she had picked up.

* * *

Elden led the procession, now on horseback. They no longer needed to stop to allow Surad and Durus to survey the trail, it was as clear as day for anyone to read, and it said in very large print that Bill Ferny was in trouble. There was fresh blood in the footprints, which meant he had worn through his shoes, and furthermore that they were only a few hours behind him, if that. He didn't say it aloud, but it also meant that Ferny knew they were coming and knew he did not have time to stop and bind up his feet properly.

Elden was itching to break into a full gallop and run the bastard down, but Nellas had restrained him with the advice that Bill had already made an escape once and was perfectly capable of doing it again if he so chose. Elden had to admit, even with their advantage in numbers and locomotion, they were on Ferny's turf. These mountains were his stomping ground and he knew them well, or he would not have been able to hide from them for this long.

He had realized that the shallow ravine they were traveling in was the remnants of a dried-up stream bed that once rang alongside the main causeway to Fornost. The only evidence left of this causeway was a slight smoothing in the natural contours of the ground as all folds of the land steadily converged on the ancient fortress. It was much closer now. They were only a league and a half away as the crow flies, but a crow had wings and horses and humans had to rely solely on their legs.

_And elves too_. He corrected himself.

He stole a glance at Nellas when he thought she wasn't looking. What lay behind that permanently detached expression? He had seen it lift several times, more often in recent days as the stresses of travel had mounted and mirth had forced its way to the surface. They all had to laugh occasionally, or they would be at each other's throats, and she was no different. He was suddenly struck by how beautiful she was. Even wrapped in a traveling cloak and carrying forty or fifty pounds worth of kit on her back, she still cut a striking figure.

She turned her head and their eyes met briefly, before they both looked away. Elden felt himself blush deeply. He felt like a lowly apprentice all over again, catching peeps at the farmer's daughters as they passed by the door of his father's shop.

It seemed fitting that they were approaching by way of a ditch. An inglorious path for a city that had lost its glory long ago. He had heard rumors about the place the Breelanders called "Dead Men's Dike". Some said that King Ellesar planned to reclaim it in the name of the newly reunited kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor, but from where they stood there was no sign of civilization, or at least, human civilization.

The blood in the footprints was getting smaller in quantity. What remained gleamed in the late afternoon sun. The trees were beginning to get thicker again. Someone had been busy cutting them down in the valley, but farther up the hillsides the forest was thick with proud evergreens, trees that had probably stood for centuries and witnessed this place in its halcyon days. With less than a league to go, they halted. The trail led up to a large cluster of rocks on their right. The rocks leaned against one another and created a natural hollow large enough for several people to sit in. Here the tracks doubled over each other, once, twice, three times, and then... vanished.

Surad immediately jumped off her horse and began unwinding the tangle of footsteps, holding up a hand to tell them to stop.

"Wait, don't step on it. I can figure this out."

They waited a few minutes while she and Durus scanned the terrain like bloodhounds. Eventually Surad clambered up onto one of the rocks and looked around. When she slid back down, her face was grim.

"He's tried to confuse us, and for the moment I'd say he has succeeded. There are more pressing problems headed this way."

"What?" Elden said, feeling his impatience rise once again.

"Trolls."

* * *

They were huge. Bigger than normal trolls. Bigger even than mountain trolls. The armor they wore was thick and complex, composed of many interlocking plates that allowed them a full range of movement. They tramped past, talking in their own tongue which sounded like rocks being smashed together.

"How is that possible?" Elden hissed. "Trolls turn to stone in sunlight, everybody knows that."

"These are no ordinary trolls." Nellas said. "They are Olag-hai. Sauron bred them for endurance, cleverness and cruelty."

It was not the end of the parade either. A whole regiment of orcs followed behind, hooting and cackling, their cleavers cutting long, squiggly patterns in the snow as they were dragged carelessly behind them. The group moved straight south, down the causeway that would in some miles turn into the Great North Road.

"They're heading towards the Bree," said Durus. "I hope the watch is ready for them."

Reluctantly, Elden abandoned the idea that they were going to catch up to Ferny today. They would certainly catch him tomorrow, though. There was only one place that scoundrel could be heading, and it squatted on their northern horizon like a gargoyle. There was a great frozen lake to the east of the city that he suspected led out to the sea in spring. The walls were tall and thick, but had crumbled in many places, and were tunneled through in others. He had no doubt now that it belonged solely to orcs, but what manner of orcs? He had seen the procession of trolls on the causeway carrying a banner, but there had been a grey troll skull on a black background rather than the red eye of Sauron or the white hand of Isengard.

"We should make camp. It is getting dark."

Nobody seemed to want to argue, even if they were as keen to nab Ferny as he was. Durus helped him lay the blankets out, and they draped one over the entrance to the hollow. On top of this he placed branches that he had hacked from the lower parts of a tree, to camouflage the fact that they were sleeping there. Try as they might to accommodate, there was only really room for three people once the horses had lain down.

"That's alright." said Elden, when Nellas pointed this out. "Someone needs to keep watch anyway. I'll go first and wake Surad at midnight."

Surad agreed, and Elden went a little ways off to find a good hiding spot. The small hill on which the rocks stood was covered by trees, and it turned into a steep slope to the north towards Fornost, and the west side which abutted the causeway. He chose a likely spot between two massive tree trunks and sat himself down facing the opposite direction, southeast, as that was the place where some inquisitive orc might wander up in search of a place to relieve himself. It was strictly against the code of a sentry, but he light his pipe anyway. He felt after all this fuss and trouble over that damn ring he had earned the right to indulge in his creature comforts.

The heat from the bowl kept his nose warm, but the rest of his body was severely wanting. He pulled the edges of the cloak tighter and tucked them underneath him, but that was about the most he could do. His collar and hood were already up and he had two pairs of socks on. If there was a way to get warmer without doing a jig, the method was unknown to him.

He thought he heard a twig snap somewhere, and he covered the glowing bowl for a moment, but after a minute of silence he relaxed. There was still a dull ache at his neck line where the ring had been. He wanted it so badly he felt he could burst at any moment. Gruesome portraits of all the things he wanted to do to that thieving wretch Bill Ferny danced in his head. Then, however, another thought occurred to him. They were both thieves. Wouldn't he have done the same thing, were he in Ferny's position?

When he looked down again the pipe had gone out, so he tapped the contents on the ground, stowed it safely in his pocket and wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to keep the shivering under control.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned to see Nellas sitting right beside him.

"Fuck!" he said, as quietly as his surprise would allow.

His hand dropped from the handle of his sword, and he made to reprimand her, but something stopped him. She was looking directly at him, and there was a strange look in her eyes, like she was trying to see directly through him. Was it anger? No, it was... longing?

He noticed that she was very close to him. He also noticed that her hand was resting on his.

"Erm..." was all he could think to say, and then she kissed him.

Shock gave way to warmth. She was incredibly warm, and as he returned the kiss her other hand grasped his cheek, pulling him further into it. A bolt of lightning was ricocheting up and down his spine, and each time her lips brushed against his it unraveled another coil. For some reason he got a distinct taste of... Barliman's ale? He was too dazed to be angry that she had rummaged through his pack, or to even make that logical conclusion. When they broke apart it was as though he had come out of a deep sleep. They both sat in silence a moment, staring at each other as fiercely as two beings with eyes have ever beheld one another. Their breath misted in the frigid air, joining to form a single cloud that drifted up through the branches.

Then she got up, and walked back to the shelter.

Elden was warm for the rest of the night. Warm, but also confused.

**(A/N: I hope you're enjoying the ride so far. It's about to get even bumpier.)**


	11. The Old That Is Strong Does Not Wither

Gradually, Durus awoke. He neck was as stiff as a wooden branch from leaning against a horse for warmth the whole night. He crawled out of the shelter and found Surad cleansing her face with melted snow. He joined her, wiping the dust and grime from his hair and upper body with the frigid water.

"Where are Elden and Nellas?" He asked.

"Off gathering supplies I believe." She replied. "I saw them kissing last night, after you went to bed."

"You were spying on them? What is your obsession with those two?"

Surad smiled.

"You're just mad because I was right."

* * *

Nellas's nimble fingers grasped between the thorns of the thistle and plucked its delicate purple flower from the stem, depositing it in a small pouch with the other plants she had collected. Despite the fact that she had not been schooled in the natural remedies that grew in this clime, she recognized certain species. It was curious that a milk thistle had retained it's summer bloom for this long.

Off to her left Elden was chopping wood. His sleeves were rolled up, and the sinews in his arms bulged each time he brought the hatchet down to split the branches into smaller pieces. It was still bracingly cold, but the sun was very bright, and its energy reflected off the snow so that they were twice illuminated.

She still couldn't figure out quite how she felt about Elden. In her mind he was no longer a lost little boy who needed some help, he was... something else. A man. A friend. A companion.

It was his turn to catch her staring. He met her gaze, an act that always set the hairs on the back of her neck on end. He planted his hatchet in the snow and leaned against it, as an old man might lean against a cane. With his left hand he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew an empty bottle of cider. He let it drop to the ground, and the slope bore it down to her feet, where it bumped gently against her boots. She picked it up and examined it. She only vaguely remembered drinking the whole thing, but she had been desperate to get warm in the wee hours of the morning and had underestimated the intoxicating effects. Under its influence it had seemed a perfectly good idea to go and demonstrate her feelings to Elden firsthand. In the light of day, however, she felt foolish.

Thankfully those startling blue eyes didn't look angry or annoyed, merely curious.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

It was a simple question, but the more she considered it the more she realized that the answer was no.

"I'm trying to... work through some things. In my head, I mean. Now isn't the time."

"And when will the time be?"

His voice was calm, but it carried a force about it that suggested he would like it to be as soon as possible.

"I don't know. Sorry."

Elden shrugged and went back to his woodcutting.

* * *

Four pairs of feet pounded over the ground. The wall loomed ahead of them, massive and monolithic. To their left the gates that had once stood guard over the greatest realm of Arnor still bore the marks of the Witch King's siege engines, several hundred years old. One of them had been torn from it's hinges entirely and lay flat on the ground, sundered into three pieces by the force of Angband's armies. The city had been recaptured, but since abandoned, and was definitely the worse for wear.

They reached the base of the wall at a place where the top level had collapsed down about halfway, providing a much less formidable place to being their climb. Elden shunted a coil of rope from his shoulder and grasped one of the ends which was fastened to a three-pronged hook usually used for bringing two ships together at sea. He used it for hauling himself into trees to hunt game or hide from enemies. The cord was strong stuff, carefully woven together by the talented women-folk of Bree. He threw it once, twice, three times, but it failed to catch and clattered off uselessly.

"I thought you were supposed to be good at this." Durus said.

"Apparently not." Elden replied, dryly.

It wouldn't do to antagonize the man further. Besides, if he had to be honest his mind was a thousand miles away from the task at hand. He wanted to ask her what was going through her head, but he didn't. He couldn't stop thinking about the kiss, though. Every time he turned his thoughts to the ring and finding Ferny, the memory of that warm embrace wormed its way into his mind and grew like a weed, choking out everything else.

_Clear your head. _He reprimanded himself, his inner voice adopting the tone of his father. _Focus._

This time the hook caught. He tugged on the rope sharply, and then pulled himself off the ground by his arms and hung there for a few seconds, to ensure that it would hold his weight. He had seen farmers using it to hitch oxen to plows in the Breeland, but there was no telling what wind, rain and frost had done to the fibers. Apparently it had not suffered any ill effects, because it staid intact.

Elden went first, with the two Haradrim close behind and Nellas bringing up the rear, effortlessly hauling her own weight plus her pack. Up they climbed, hand over hand, without anything to catch them should they fall save a bed of gravel and a few bushes. When they reached the point where erosion and the constant wedging effect of frost had crumbled the wall they carefully clambered up, one at a time, and then climbed the treacherous pile of loose bricks to the intact battlements. From this height they could get a proper view of the city.

The city itself mirrored the fortress in that it was constructed in a massive square. The interior was further subdivided by slightly shorter inner walls. Most lacked gates, either because they were not designed with them or because the originals had been forcibly removed, likely by a troll or two. The battlements were covered on two sides with a wall about chest height, allowing them to crouch to avoid being seen. They had need to do so often. Sentries roamed the inner walls of certain districts, and twice they were forced to retrace their steps and choose another path, so as to avoid rousing the whole fortress. He had no idea how they were going to locate Ferny, but it didn't matter. They hadn't come this far to turn back without being absolutely sure.

Early that morning, before they had secured the horses and set out for the fortress wall, Elden had scaled a tree and observed the movement within Fornost for a good hour or so. For orcs daytime seemed to be a period of rest. He had never heard of them being nocturnal, but it sure looked like it. The sentries didn't do much watching, mostly they sat and drank or cleaned between their toes, anything except keeping a proper lookout. If they were careful, nobody would have to know they were there at all.

None of them had protested. Not even Nellas, and he knew that she was aware how stupid and pointless it was to go into Fornost. The ring was gone, and the rational voice inside his head knew it, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to face it. That ring had been his meal ticket. Both the reason and solution to his suffering. If he didn't get it back, none of the hardship he had gone through would have been worth it.

At the middle of one of the inner walls in the southeast sector, they ran out of options entirely. A patrol was coming down the outer wall that ran perpendicular to theirs, and another one was coming from the opposite direction. It was highly likely that one of the groups would turn and come down onto their wall when they passed them. There was a very short conversation conducted in whispers. Then Elden looked out into the city to their left. Most of the spires that stuck up above the level of the wall had been taken off altogether, a result of ballistae fire from battles long past combined with weathering and the tramping feet of orcs. The lower levels and tenant buildings had survived, but the streets and the market quarter were filled with rubble and debris. Wooden structures had long ago been broken up to fuel the campfires or rotted away in abandonment.

Throughout the ruins, orcs had brought in their own crudely hewn wooden planks and created pathways between buildings by exploiting holes already present or knocking out new ones. There were not many creatures moving about, at least not that she could see. All of them were on the rope again, trying to let themselves down as quietly as possible and with as little banging against the hard stone of the wall as possible. Elden had taken both his and Nellas's packs and secured the contents with strips of cloth so that they would not rattle as they walked. Shape, shine, shadow, silhouette and spacing. He had practiced these techniques all his life, and they had allowed him to fall back on hunting when there was no other way to find food. Then of course, he had encountered thievery, and this made use of many of those same techniques...

His feet were first to touch the ground. He waited until they were all down and then gave the line a mighty jerk. A loop of slack rippled up the rope, and the hook was flicked free of its hold. He almost tripped over his own feet as he ran to catch it before it clattered onto the cobblestones. The sound of other footsteps caused them to wheel about in panic, and they just managed to get out of the street as a group of orcs passed them, fleeing silently into a nearby building.

The floor was littered with bones, some of which looked suspiciously human. A rich stench hung over everything, a mixture of rotting meat and sewage typical of orc dwellings. Behind a ruined front desk an enormous troll slept, his drooling face leaned against the stone. They were grey and lumpy creatures, even uglier without their armor. His was piled in a stack in the corner, ready to give someone tetanus with its multitudinous metal spikes. They crept quietly through this room and into the next, which was in similar shape. Through a hole in the ceiling they could hear orcs talking from the floors above them. For the third time Elden remarked that they were speaking the common tongue of Westron. Not only that, but they seemed to have a much better grasp of it than their brethren from other parts. Usually their civilized speech was confined to hurling insults that were more often confusing than genuinely insulting.

"Ish a two thirds split, yew 'eard 'er yourself!"

"Yeh, but I'm sayin' we should be takin' two thirds, not 'er."

"Thas not how it works, Vog. Mrs. Bones will 'ave your ear for thievin'."

"But we thieved it in the first place! Whats a bit more thievin' to that old spider anyway?"

_Orcs that can count? _ Elden thought. _That truly is frightening. _

They moved out into the courtyard that connected all four sides of the tenant complex. The space between the planters had been filled with trash and... "leavings" tossed from the windows above. Planters that still had earth grew only weeds. It might Elden angry at the mere sight of it. What a waste it was...

As they moved past street after street, carefully inspecting every corner before walking past it, his spirits began to sink. Every step felt like it had been borrowed from someone else and would have to be repaid in full. The next district was completely empty. The flames of a great fire had burned it all to black, and even moss refused to grow on its scorched surface. As their feet dragged against the cobblestones they raised little clouds of black ashes. Something in the dust made his throat sting, but he didn't dare cough. All was still and quiet.

Up ahead was another gateway. A large portcullis was secured across it, but the iron was held together by bolts and some of these had been pried away, leaving a large gap near the bottom. As they got closer, they could hear shouting and hooting. Elden hadn't realized how much the walls blocked out the noise from other portions of the city. It occurred to him that this place probably had far more goblins residing within it than he had at first supposed. It also occurred to him that if they were somehow trapped, or an alarm was raised, they would all be in a very tight fix and it would be his fault.

"I have one last place I want to search."

(BREAK)

They slid over the streets like a curse, out of sight, out of mind. A great group of orcs was gathered in the square, where the loose bricks had been swept up and made into a low circle. Inside this circle, two enormous direwolves tore each other to pieces. Drink splashed. Gold changed hands. Nellas could smell the sweat from a great distance. Then again, she could sense many things from a great distance. Other creatures walked around with blinkers on. Very little escaped the notice of elves.

For example, it had not escaped her notice that the likelihood of them finding Ferny was dropping precipitously, but she was pretending it had because she felt it was the right thing to do at this juncture. Even if he was long gone, she could feel a tension in Elden. It had been building all that morning and his demeanor practically screamed it. Most humans spoke more when they became agitated. Elden was the opposite. He pulled himself farther and farther into his shell until something poked him, and then he lashed out.

They met no more orcs on their way through the side-street. On the left side of the street up ahead she could see the massive stone steps and columns of Fornost's central stronghold, at once a castle and a temple and a testament to the strength of men all in one. Worn faces stared down at them from the murals sculpted into the space between the ceiling and the roof. Time and weather had smoothed their relief, but their gaze still held the intensity of another age burning through, a proud age of trade and triumph. The steps they approached led up to the east wing of the palace, which, if she remembered her history correctly, was devoted to the worship of the Ilúvatar. It was a thick, square monolith of stone topped by an enormous dome. At the top of the steps stood an orc, obviously anxious to be off guard duty so he could go watch the fight that was raging somewhere behind them. A direwolf similar to the ones pitted against one another was chained to one of the pillars. They halted and melted back against the wall, Elden drawing his bow.

"Here, give it to me." Nellas said, putting her hand on the curve of the wood.

"I am perfectly capable of hitting them from here." Elden replied, and tried to move the bow around her hand.

She wouldn't let him.

"I understand that, and I do not mean to cast doubt on your prowess, but if they are not both taken out at once, the result would be disastrous."

Elden continued to grasp the bow for a moment, and then gave in. Nellas drew two arrows from his quiver and notched them one above the other. She adjusted her middle finger carefully, adding the appropriate amount of spacing necessary, and then waiting to ensure the targets did not move.

Her body tensed.

She drew the string back to the limit of it's draw and then held it there, still as a statue. Then she let the shots fly. Both orc and hound collapsed, a missile stuck neatly in each skull. They had no time to be impressed, or even to hide the bodies. They took the steps two at a time, and then halted before the oaken side doors that lead into the mezzanine. It was a square room, and at one time was ornate and richly furnished. The carpet was stained with the mud from many dirty footprints and the decorations had been mostly destroyed or defiled. In the middle of the floor the stairs led down to another story, where there was an entrance into the cathedral proper. Elden made a motion towards the doors all along the walls, and they began to check them. Already Nellas could hear a voice speaking in the black speech, but which door it was coming from was difficult to tell. It was quite unlike the crude Westron the other creatures had been speaking. Each word was fully formed and rich with malice.

"If the boys want to be paid they have to obey the rules Mrs. Bones sets. There are no exceptions."

"I will relay your wishes. What should be the punishment if they refuse?"

"Death."

Elden indicated the door the noise was coming from. Surad and Durus dashed over and threw it open. All three moved into the room beyond, where both the chieftain and his servant were caught completely by surprise. They only had time to gurgle as knives pierced them and their life drained out onto the floor. Nellas felt a little queasy as she too entered the room and found them rumaging through its contents, stepping nonchalantly over the pools of blood. They were orcs, true, but humans seemed to derive altogether too much pleasure from killing them.

"Look at this!" Elden exclaimed, picking up a pair of sacks bound up with twine.

They let out a familiar jingle, and when they were opened they revealed fat, shiny gold coins. Elden pushed the body of the chieftain off of the chair and began to count the coins with a practiced air, flipping them between thumb and forefinger. When all were tallied he tossed a bag to Surad.

"Here. A down payment for all that walking and tracking you two have done."

"Much appreciated, horse-master."

Nellas watched with a distinct air of impatience, which did not escape Elden.

"What? You want some?"

Nellas shook her head, more than a little repulsed by the lust for gold that gleamed in their eyes. Treasure always seemed to hold a strange power over humans. It surpassed even the dwarvish preoccupation, who loved a thing for its hardness or its beauty, whereas humans always seemed to be calculating value. What can I get for this? It was no wonder they were more susceptible to the corrupting effects of the ring's power.

"Of course not." She said, disdainfully. "We're wasting time."

Elden shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

* * *

The dome was enormous. It looked like something that had been wrought by the gods themselves rather than anything made by the hand of man. Carvings lined the surface in concentric rings, telling the story of the founding of Fornost in faded lacquer. The dome was supported by massive columns even larger than the mostly decorative pillars on the outside of the building. Behind these were other open hallways with doors leading off of them. Shelves and furniture had long since been ripped up and carted away, and only the fragments of many thousands of pieces of parchment still fluttered through the room, borne aloft by a draft of air leaking in from somewhere, probably the dome. Several cracks were already spidering up it's surface, but nothing had fallen free yet, a testament to the great engineers of Arnor.

Several orcs were sitting near the ruins of one of the columns. Two of them were playing some kind of game of chance with human knuckle bones while the rest watched, giving advice and mocking the one they weren't betting on. One of their number turned away from the spectacle and walked towards one of the doors, intent on reliving himself. He passed into the shadowy backside of a column, where the noise from his compatriots was enough to overwhelm the noise of a large, swarthy arm snapping his neck like a wishbone. The other orcs did hear footsteps however, but by then it was several seconds too late. Nellas wrenched her arm upwards, slashing from shoulder to hip. Another one of the foul creatures launched itself at her, but met only a pointed edge. She un-skewered the unlucky soul and left him to die, turning her attention to the ones that were grappling with the Haradrim. Durus had suffered a nasty gash across his bicep, and he was struggling to keep the long hacking edges away from him with just a dagger and two metal vambraces on his arms.

Time seemed to slow even further as her hands rushed out to deliver the blade to her enemies.

She had practiced these motions thousands of times, and yet it was entirely different when there was something fighting back on the other end, even something so loathsome as an orc. Her hand plunged the blade into one, then two orcs. Another swung a mace and chain, but it missed, and Elden picked up the ball between the spikes and looped the chain around the orc's neck. It struggled for far longer than he thought it would, but eventually the flailing limbs went slack, and he let mace and orc tumble to the floor with a clatter.

For a moment, all four of them stood absolutely still, searching for another threat, but there was none. It was silent save for the deep, gasping breaths they were all taking Slowly, they began to become conscious of their surroundings.

Beneath each mighty archway stood a statue of a god or gods. It was curious to Nellas that the humans had created the other Valar in the same size and prominence as Ilúvatar

Each face had been carefully crafted and polished from marble, and from their size it was obvious that they had been carved in the room itself, or perhaps lifted through before the dome was complete. They were so large that their heads nearly clipped the apex of each archway. The orcs had not possessed the time or the equipment to build a ladder high enough to deface the statues as they had the rest of the building, and so had to content themselves with vandalizing the base and legs.

They stared down with differing expressions based on their temperament according to human lore. Manwë the Good and Pure and his wife Varda, whom the elves knew as Githoniel and Elbereth. Aulë, the master smith and his wife Yawanna, the creator of the ents. Ulmo, the lord of waters and Irmo, master of desire and his wife Estë from whose power the gardens of Lórien bloomed brighter than any in Valinor. Nienna, who dwelt in the far Western regions of Valinor, whose windows look out beyond the Walls of Night and whose tears have healing powers. Oromë the hunstman and his wife Vana, friend to flowers and birds. Tulkas, the strongest Valar, fond of great feats of skill and daring, and his wife Nessa, the agile spirit of the woods.

There too was Mandos, the keeper of the Houses of the Dead. His spouse Vairë occupied the same pedestal, in her outstretched hands a spider that Nellas supposed was to represent the way she weaved the fabrics of fate together to create a record of all time.

"Durus... you are bleeding."

"I realize that." Durus growled, clutching his arm.

Nellas slipped off her pack and rummaged around in it, producing a roll of clean linen and a jar of crushed leaves. She took a pinch from the jar and sprinkled it between the lips of the gash. Durus hissed through his teeth as the powder made contact, and the gash began to shrink slightly.

"Pull your arm out of the sleeve." She said, before adding "...carefully."

When he had done so she rolled the gauze over his arm several times, ensuring there was as little slack as possible without cutting off circulation. They both stood, and he examined her work.

"Thank you."

She was a bit taken aback. She had never expected to hear those words coming out of his mouth. Perhaps some of Elden's biases were rubbing off on her. Durus gazed around at the ornate decoration on the walls.

"I wonder how much that would be worth if we carved it out..." he mused.

"I already cut you in on the spoils. That-" Elden said, pointing to the portions of mural that the orcs hadn't destroyed. "-is not a spoil. It's a piece of my history. Someday soon Ellesar will clear this place out properly, and when he does it should be as intact as possible."

"You're bleeding as well, Elden." said Surad.

Nellas turned and saw that this was true. Blood flowed from underneath his wrist, and it was dripping gently onto the marble from the tip of his index finger. The Harad woman grasped his arm. He tried to pull it way, but her grip was firm.

"One of the spikes from the mace poked me. It's nothing."

"Nonsense. It could get infected and then we'd have to carry your gangly..."

She trailed off as she turned over the wrist and saw what was emblazoned there. By chance the scratch had been made right in the very center of the mask's eye. Mandos was weeping tears of blood. Surad let go of his arm as though it was red hot and took several steps back.

"What is it?" Durus said suspiciously.

"He's got the mark of the headsman, Durus! They want him dead."

"So? Plenty of people want us dead as well, darling."

"What did you do?" Surad persisted, unshaken. "Murder?"

"I did nothing except invite the displeasure of the Lord Regent of Edoras. That was enough. But believe me, I have earned that mark since I escaped."

Elden turned and began to walk away.

"I'm going to check these rooms, and then we can leave. Bill Ferny isn't here."

* * *

The quiet in this city was not like the quiet elsewhere. On the road it was rarely ever completely silent. Even on a cold evening in the dead of winter the winter the wind could be heard, gentle though it was. Here the stone enclosed them like a tomb and ate up the sound of voices and footsteps, giving them back only distant and distorted echoes.

Nellas peeked around the corner to see Elden kneeling in front of what was left of a stone altar, the last lines of a prayer on his lips.

"...crashing waters on the deep, mighty Eru my soul to keep."

She came in and sat down on a bench beside the wall.

"I did not mark you as a devout person, Elden."

He stood up quickly, as though she had caught him doing something strange.

"I'm not, but it never hurts, right? When you're out of options you appeal to god."

"Call on god, but row away from the rocks." Nellas replied, echoing the words of a teacher she had once had in Imladris.

Elden smirked and took a seat on the bench opposite.

"I rowed as hard as I could. I guess it wasn't enough."

They both sat in silence for a time, avoiding each others eyes. The sound of Surad and Durus talking in low voices drifted through the doorway, but she was curious what they were saying. She didn't even particularly care what happened to the ring or Ferny. It was possible that he had frozen to death in some lonely corner somewhere, and would not be found for hundreds of years, like the Dark Lord's ring.

Her eyes were drawn to the altar. The carvings around the base had been methodically hacked away or smashed. The mural behind it was composed of many small ceramic tiles of various colors, almost all of which had been wrenched down or broken. It might have been the work of Angmar's horde, but it could just as easily have been the orcs under the sway of "Mrs. Bones", whoever that was. Perhaps she didn't exist, or was some kind of mythical character invoked by orc chieftains for power.

Even as she tried to distract herself with other thoughts, the kiss bubbled up to the top. Somehow she knew that it was on Elden's mind as well. They were both distracted, going through the motions in a coldly polite way all while pretending that nothing was different. But it was. A choice was starting to form in her mind. It had been becoming clearer ever since she met Elden, but until now it was still blurry and uncertain, something in the future. A bridge that might have to be crossed.

The brutal simplicity of the choice made her feel sick.

Either she would stay, or she would go. Immortality or... this incredible, insane feeling that was centered around the man sitting across from her.

Living in the fast-paced world of mortals these past few weeks, she had somehow imagined herself against the grindstone as well. With life going by so fast, these creatures seemed all too aware of the preciousness of every moment, an attitude that had already proved infectious to her. She had never lived so much in such a short amount of time. Already, her memories from other times had faded. They would never disappear, they were too much a part of her, but they seemed distant now. Quieter. The past was farther away, and so was the pain and the regret associated with it. Just distorted echoes, like the sound in this strange place.

"Where do you want to go next?"

"What?"

Nellas was jerked from her reverie.

"I said, where do you want to go next?" Elden repeated. "For better or worse, Ferny has gotten away. Durus and Surad have gotten their gold, and if they think they aren't likely to get more they wont stick around."

"I thought you were the one "calling the shots", as you put it."

Elden shrugged.

"At this point I don't really care. We have enough supplies to last us another two weeks, with the horses. It's up to you."

"What about Lorien?" Nellas said.

Elden looked at her curiously.

"Why, what's in Lorien?"

"I thought you said I could choose."

"So I did. Lorien it is."

* * *

The walls of Fornost receded steadily behind them. Their exit had been blessedly uneventful. None of them looked back. The old ruin was no longer an object of curiosity in their minds, just a place of death and decay.

Nellas watched Surad grip one of her knives between two fingers, demonstrating the grip to Elden, who was watching intently.

"You can do it with any blade, in theory, but the ones that tumble best are balanced specifically for throwing."

They arrived back at the small hill where their camp was hidden. Almost immediately, Nellas could tell that something was wrong. The humans could sense it too. Things were not as they left them. Elden's woodcutting axe was lying on the ground, surrounded by footprints. The horses seemed spooked, and were pacing nervously. The length of fabric that Elden had secured over the mouth of the shelter had been torn aside, as though someone was looking for packs to steal from. They had not found any. Surad went over to her horse and placed a hand on it's muzzle, calming us.

Nellas stepped forward nonchalantly, leaning her head down to Elden's ear and murmuring:

"I can see someone trying to hide from us. Act natural."

A second later, Elden saw it too. A shimmer. A ripple, as though of heat. A pair of rag-covered feet that left little indentations, creeping closer to them, step by step. Without warning, Nellas wrenched her sword from it's sheath and swung it horizontally in a wide sweep, pushing Elden out of the way with her left hand as she did so. For a split second the blade hissed through the air, finding nothing. Then, it found an obstacle. There was a terrible scream, and two things became visible. One was a severed hand which fell to the snow with a muffled thump. The other was Bill Ferny, clutching his stump and weeping.

Elden did not hesitate. He leaped forward and removed Ferny's head with a blazing stroke.

The body swayed, and then toppled over, head and all. In the deafening silence that followed, Elden searched around on the ground and located the severed hand. He bent down and slipped the ring off of it's previous owner's finger and wiped the blood on his trousers.

"Thanks for keeping it warm for me."

He inspected it again more closely, as though it might be damaged. It wasn't. Surad and Durus looked on wide-eyed.

"What?" He said. "I had to do it, he could have screamed and given away our position to the orcs. Then we would have to move the whole camp and find somewhere else to sleep."

Nellas didn't know whether to be relieved or not. A stroke of fate, and no mistake. Somehow, though, it didn't surprise her.

"I knew that ring was more than you were letting on." Durus said.

Elden went over to the corpse and rifled through it's pockets. He produced a nasty metal spike, a broken chain for a necklace and several coins. He hands the coins to Durus, little flecks of blood dripping down his face. The smile affixed to it looked just as deadly as any of his grimaces.

* * *

That night, Surad and Durus displayed an unusual generosity and offered to take first watch. Elden and Nellas were both too tired to argue, or be suspicious. It was cold and wet and dark, and all of them were getting pretty tired of the back-country.

The two Haradrim waited a few hours, and then moved far enough away so that even the elf could not hear them, should she decide to eavesdrop.

"What should we do now?" Durus said.

Most people who called themselves "men of the west" would never dream of asking a female companion for advice, but that was where the men of Far Harad had an advantage. Their women were raised to be just as clever, and just as forceful.

"We should stay one more day, but on the last night..."

She trailed off, a little spark of excitement illuminating her voice.

"On the last night what?"

She looked all around, and then leaned in very close and whispered:

"On the last night we kill them in their sleep and take the ring."


	12. Deep Roots Are Not Reached By The Frost

The wind whipped across the entrance to the shelter, tossing the feeble scrap of cloth they had fixed across it to and fro. Elden had tried pinning it down with rocks but it was no use. Even with the thick cluster of horses to lie against he shivered. He envied Nellas, who was sleeping, or at least, seemed to be sleeping. She had been doing it more often, for whatever reason, whereas when he had first traveled with her she was still awake by the time he collapsed and always up before he was in the morning. He wished sleep would come to him, but he was too uncomfortable with the constant chills racing up his blanket. Living the outdoor life could be a liberating experience, but most settled people did not realize how miserable it could be, leagues from the nearest bed and all alone with unseen enemies lurking.

Durus and Surad were crouched across the clearing by the steep edge of the hill. Their words were stolen by the wind, but Elden didn't care what they were discussing, he was long past the point of caring. Even if they were plotting to kill him, he doubted he could bring himself to get up and leave the shelter. In fact death didn't seem so bad compared to another few hours of this accursed cold.

Reflexively, his fingers reached up and clutched the ring. It was warm from his skin, and he thought he could feel a faint tapping coming from inside the thing, even though to his knowledge it was completely solid. Something about the rhythm of the tapping helped him drift off into oblivion. It was too restless to be sleep, but it was the best he was going to get.

That night the ring showed him some of Ferny's last memories. He watched through a doomed man's eyes as he circled the campfire, waiting for the moment to strike. At last Ferny thought he had found his opening. The elf and the human were too busy looking at one another to notice him sneaking up. Then they kissed, and for some reason he stopped. It reminded him of something... someone...

_Sally... _hissed the ring.

_Shut up!_ Ferny screamed in his head. _You're not supposed to know that name!_

The next image was of a freshly severed stump clutched in a healthy hand. He looked up with eyes that didn't belong to him, and saw Elden's wrathful face as the head was cut from shoulders that were not his own.

* * *

"Are you sure it's a good idea?"

"Of course it is. We will be set for life."

Durus looked back at the shelter where the elf and her companion were sleeping. They had spared their lives, but in the end it was not the same as saving them. It was always Surad the came up with the crazy ideas. Sometimes they panned out, sometimes they didn't. This one didn't sound like a plan, more like an impulse, but he had to admit that he too had felt the attraction of that ring. How many other times in their life would they be this close to something so powerful?

"Tomorrow night, then."

"Yes." Surad replied. "I'll volunteer for first watch again, and then we'll do it."

"Then give me your blanket and go get some sleep."

Surad draped the length of linen she had been wearing around Durus's shoulders and gave him a kiss. He lay awake for a while after she had gone to the shelter, thinking. On the one hand he wanted that ring, but on the other their traveling partners had treated them fairly and betraying them wouldn't sit right with him. As his eyes drooped, Elden's words a few days earlier ran once more through his mind:

_"If that is indeed what you want, you should keep it to yourself, because if I hear the words "I want" and "that ring" in the same sentence, I will kill you and your female companion and leave your body here to be incorporated into the next glacier that comes along. Is that clear?" _

A moment more and he too had fallen asleep.

* * *

In the stillness of night, the shadows moved. The night was alive. It watched them with hard, beady eyes, making sure that the human was truly asleep before skulking out from the boundaries of the forest and converging on the lonely encampment. Orcs had a deserved reputation for being thick and clumsy, but they could move silently when they wanted to. Freshly fallen snow muffled the sound of footfalls as they approached. Out came the putrid-smelling cloth, which was clamped across the human's face to ensure he stayed asleep and did not make noise. He was bound with black ropes like a spider's prey as the rest of them gathered around a large hole in a rock formation. The smell of horses and men was coming from it, but another smell as well, one that sent shivers down the spines of the more experienced orcs. The stench of elf.

Two orcs pulled aside the ragged fabric that was draped across the entrance to the cave and dragged a sleeping human female out. They managed to keep her from shouting with the cloth once again, but the struggle took several seconds. The chieftain waved his hand, indicating that they should speed it up. Two more orcs went in, but the next human that they dragged out was wide awake, and clutching a knife.

* * *

Elden reached up and embedded the blade deep into the foul creature's neck, somewhere between the fourth and fifth vertebrae. The other orc released him immediately, and he rolled over to avoid a blow from a club that whistled just inches from his face, impacting the snow with a crunch. He stood and tried to run back to the shelter just in time to see Nellas emerging from it. They shared a brief look of panic, and then another club knocked him senseless.

After that he only remembered bits and pieces. There was a terrible ringing in his ears, and even when his eyes were open there were times when he couldn't see. He tried to crawl, to find Nellas somehow, but his feet were picked up and slung over the shoulder of a goblin. As he dangled upside-down, his hands dragging through the snow, he wondered vaguely why they were not all dead already. This feeling passed quickly however, as all the blood rushed to his head and he passed out.

Time passed. It could have been a few hours, or a few months. There were no dreams, only an exhausted feeling of surrender, waiting for death.

Yet, once again, death did not come.

He came to slowly. It was dark, his head was pounding, and there was something cold clutching at his wrists. When at last he gathered the strength to roll over, he discovered that they were manacles bolted to a damp stone wall.

This feeling brought with it the realization of his capture. He had lost. This was it.

The cell was almost pitch black, but by the light of a torch flickering outside he could make out the bars, and the outline of the chains that bound him. His pack and bow were lying on the ground near the door along with his sword. He even still had the ring, but the familiar pressure against his chest was small comfort, considering his fingers could not reach it, and it would not do much good if they could. Several more hours passed in solitude. He wondered what had happened to the others. In all likelihood they had come to a similar fate, and it was all because of him.

Elden didn't struggle when the orcs came in and unchained him, but he did wince when one of the orcs dropped his pack and his bow shattered. Despite the fact that he was about to die, the sound of that carefully hewn and rosined wood breaking like a twig hurt even more than the lump on the back of his head. They passed other cells as he was escorted deeper into the bowels of the mountain, for that was where he guessed they were. Which mountain was anyone's guess, and it was almost irrelevant at this juncture anyway, save as a passing, morbid curiosity.

At last the tunnel spat them out in a large, open room. Stalactites dangled from the ceiling, and the soft, regular drip of water was the only noise. The orcs pushed him roughly to his knees, and then took a few steps back.

Mrs. Bones appeared out of thin air.

He was struck by her appearance. Her skin was as white as pearl, save for the smudges of gray dust. She wore a thin, tattered robe that fell to her knees and nothing else. A strange light enervated her blue eyes, but she was indeed real and indeed human. As a matter of fact, she seemed awfully familiar, but he couldn't quite place where...

She looked at him closely, grasping his chin in her icy-cold grip.

"So it is you. Strange, how the world turns..."

"Is it?" Elden said, nonplussed.

If he hadn't been anticipating death, he would have been a little annoyed. A violent kidnapping culminating in some foul dungeon beneath the earth, and that was the best this famous "Mrs. Bones" wench could come up with? Another, subtler annoyance that was driven away by fear. This cheeky, murderous tart definitely reminded him of someone...

She snatched at his wrist, turning it over and exposing the mark of Mandos.

"So the rumors are true. What did you do with Bill Ferny?"

"Cut his head off." Elden responded, dispassionately.

"I suspected as much."

She let the wrist slide through her fingers and fixed him with a searching look.

"You know who I am, don't you?"

"Mrs Bones?"

"No, not the name the orcs have for me. You know my real name. I know yours as well. Elden, son of Ceorl."

Terrible realization slashed through his mind like a stroke of lightning. He shook his head. His mind recoiled at the very thought of it, but the fact that the thought existed was now irreversible, and that fact overwhelmed his defenses. The reasonable, sensible voice in his head that was telling him this was some kind of trick or spell was similarly overwhelmed by another voice that screamed "ITS HER".

Beorna.

"You can't have remembered me, of course, or our mother since you were the miserable wretch that killed her with the very act of coming into the world. She was a beautiful woman, Elden, almost as beautiful as I am now. And you! You didn't turn out as ugly as you looked at three months old. I hope you enjoy being a strapping young lad, what little time you have left in that body. I know I will."

Something else appeared out of the quivering gloom, a figure being dragged forward by two orcs. It was Nellas. A thin trickle of blood was running down the side of her face.

"You and I are going to have a lot of fun later, but for now I'd like a word with this little elf in private."

She waved her hand dismissively and the orcs clapped a hand under each armpit and hauled him upright. Now he was struggling, and cursing as well. The sight of Nellas looking up towards those blue eyes made him burn with fury. Dying was one injustice, but being a plaything in some sick game was quite another.

Fortunately, this was where his luck began to improve.

The orcs escorting him had turned the corner and gone about a dozen paces from the entrance when two shadows reached out from the wall and planted their blades in the necks of his captors. Surad and Durus stepped into the light, both of them with angry red marks on their wrists where the chains had dug in. Each of them had stolen an orcish weapon.

"I owe you one." was all he could think to say.

"No kidding." Durus said.

"How did you..."

"We'll tell the story later. Your girlfriend is in trouble."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Uh-huh. We believe you." Surad said in a sarcastic tone.

Without any kind of prearranged signal, the three of them sprinted into the room. They were at the end of their rope, literally and figuratively. It was time to throw the fat in the fire and see where it got them.

Nellas had not moved, and neither had Mrs. Bones.

The latter turned to regard them with a look of supreme annoyance.

"Kill them."

She said calmly, raising a pale finger in their direction.

The orcs that had been standing along the wall watching at once dashed toward them, and more came from the tunnel behind them, but there was a desperate rage in Elden's muscles now. He dived underneath a wild swing from the lead orc of the pack, and Durus followed soon after, cutting him down before he could react. He dove to the floor and grabbed his pack, slinging it over his back and snatching up his sword. There was barely time to wedge the scabbard haphazardly into his belt before two orcs were almost upon him. He strafed sideways with the intention of fighting one at a time for as long as he could manage it. It worked. One after another, they ventured within reach of his sword and he dispatched them.

At the far end of the room, Nellas burst into flame. It was an intense blaze, more yellow than orange, and all the air in the room seemed to flow towards it. The fire raged, swirling around her like a tornado as it grew to a peak. The shackles bent and snapped, falling to the floor as she took a step towards Mrs. Bones. The fire retreated from her body, leaving it unscathed, but it remained in her hands... and her eyes.

The pale woman took one look at this and thrust her hands into the folds of her robes. Mrs. Bones vanished just as suddenly as she had appeared. Elden saw this out of the corner of his eye and disengaged from his current opponent, sprinting towards the tunnel on the opposite side of the room.

"Come on, she's getting away!"

Surad and Durus also tore after him, and the remaining orcs either pursued them or peeled off into other tunnels, likely to call for backup. As the last of their number passed into the passageway, Nellas turned and clenched her fist, as though threatening someone. A line of fire winked to life, blocking the orcs from coming any closer.

"Move quickly. That will not hold them for long." Nellas said. "Elden, put your ring on."

"What?" Elden said, panting heavily.

"Put your ring on. She has one as well."

"What?!" Elden said again, almost indignantly. "How do you know that?"

"There is no other explanation. If she was powerful enough to hide herself from vision without one, she would have killed us all instantly. Instead she ran."

"How are we supposed to fight something we can't see?" said Surad.

"Hang back, then." Elden replied. "Keep the orcs off of our backs."

As though the very mention of their name had summoned them, the crazed, hooting cries of the goblin-folk echoed through the tunnel.

"The air is moving faster here. This tunnel leads to the surface." Nellas said.

They all fervently hoped she was right as they sprinted down the passageway into oblivion. Sure enough, the darkness began to lift as they continued to turn corners, winding their way left and right, but always slightly upwards. At last they rounded the final bend and the chamber grew much wider, terminating in a doorway through which the wonderful smell of clean air blew, dispelling the dankness of the caverns. The orcs also rounded the bend at about the same time, and a fight ensued. Nellas continued to run, as did Elden, but Surad was forced to turn and swipe at their pursuers to keep them back. As she did so, an orcish blade reached beyond the melee and sliced her arm.

She screamed and fell backwards, and as Elden looked over his shoulder in horror, he saw Durus turn and sprint back towards the mob of orcs that were already descending on her, a look of utter fury in his eyes. As he passed into the snow and the sunshine, he saw Nellas waving at him to get out of the way. He did so, and she unleashed a torrent of flame at the mouth of the tunnel. The orcs had completely surrounded Durus, but he was still fighting when the ice that restrained the boulders melted, and the tunnel was buried in a rock slide.

Elden grasped at his knees, panting a bleary-eyed. The deaths had been so sudden, so needless...

"Elden!" Nellas barked, and the urgency in her voice made him look up. "I told you to put your ring on -"

Instead of finishing that thought, she turned and brought her sword up across her face, and something slammed hard into it. Elden quickly jammed his hand down his tunic and slipped the ring on.

The sunshine went grey. The sky got much closer, and the mountains, much farther away. Time slowed ever so slightly. Beorna drew the crude orcish cleaver back above her head and brought it down again with terrible force, knocking Nellas' sword from her grasp. Nellas skirted around the next blow and retrieved her sword. Elden dashed in and swung, but Beorna saw him coming and deflected it.

He stumbled, and she struck him across the face with the flat of the blade. Nellas stepped into his place as he fell onto his back and struggled to regain his feet, holding in place the blow that would have otherwise killed him. Digging in her foot, she smashed back in a display of the brute force elves were capable of. It was Mrs. Bones' turn to stumble. Elden rolled, regained his feet, and rushed in again, only to be parried once, twice, three times. Something was happening, though. Each time her blade was brought to the angle required to keep his at bay, it did so more slowly, and with less vigor. A look was coming into her eyes that was not hate or rage.

It was fear.

They met again for the fourth time, and her guard wavered. A voice hissed in his ear.

_KILL_

He obeyed. It felt as though she was already dead, and the careful sidestep and swift down-stroke that slashed her neck open was merely a formality on his part. A ritual that had to take place. Two swords fell to the ground. His in disgust, hers in panic. As she desperately clutched at her throat, he turned away, squeezing his eyes shut as though the memory of that betrayed face could be removed by pressure.

When the choking had stopped, he and Nellas looked at one another.

Once again, each knew what the other was thinking. They shouldn't be alive. They had cheated somehow. It was a feeling like slime that could not be washed off. Both of them stood in silence for several minutes. Elden removed the ring, and placed it back in his pocket.

Tentatively, Nellas went over to the corpse and pried the hands away from her throat. From the left hand she retrieved a ring. Like Elden's it was without marking or inscription, the only difference being that this one was silver.

Elden retrieved his sword from the snowbank and wiped it clean on the branches of an evergreen tree. Both of them surveyed their surroundings, trying to get some sense of where they were, and trying hard not to look at the corpse in the snow, or think about the ones they had left behind inside that lonely mountain.

* * *

It was snowing harder. They had gone some ways from the mountains and made camp underneath the shelter of a cluster of evergreens just off from the precarious mountain road. An ancient stone bridge over a steep ravine was the only evidence that the hands of man had ever ventured out this way.

Nellas watched Elden as he sat on the edge of this precipice, leaning over and looking down to the bottom. There was a pipe in his mouth, and that same strange, far-off look in his eyes. After a time, she came to sit down beside him. Something had to be said. They couldn't simply pretend none of this had happened, although some days that seemed like the most logical course of action.

"She was your sister, wasn't she?"

Elden nodded.

"She was. Once."

"At least now you know."

Elden emptied his pipe and put it away.

"That's one way of looking at it."

He glanced over at her finger, where the silver ring was perched, gleaming as if it had just come out of the fire minutes ago.

"How can you do that?"

"What?"

"Wear the ring without turning invisible."

Nellas removed the object and held it in her palm, examining it closely.

"Celebrimbor made several rings to test his skill before he committed to making the rings of power." She said. "They are neither wholly good nor evil, simply tools, but tools that reflect the owner and magnify their most prominent traits."

"Then how does it make humans invisible?" Elden asked.

"It was a tool designed for use by the elves. When a human puts one on, even the mightiest king, the power of the ring overshadows them entirely, and they vanish from sight."

She put the ring back on, to no visible effect, just as before. There was a long pause as both of them considered what to say next.

"We should talk." Nellas said, finally.

"About what?" Elden replied, but his tone suggested that he could already guess.

"About us."

"What about us?"

Nellas fixed him with a steady gaze, which he returned. Those blue eyes still made her shiver, even now.

"I-" she began, and then stopped.

She couldn't believe she was having difficulty with this. If Elrond could see his star pupil stuttering now, he would have laughed heartily.

"I've never felt the same way about any other person." She said, finally.

"Neither have I."

"I know. I am sorry I have been so... evasive about it, but there is very large decision for me to make, in acknowledging my feelings."

"Of course." Elden said.

He did not, of course, realize what she was talking about, so she simply came out and said it.

"Either I will stay with you for the rest of our days together, or I will sail over the sea. It cannot be both."

There was another pause, this one more tense. Elden seemed to be processing the information.

"The rest of our days might be a pretty short span of time if we can't make the rest of the food last."

"We have at least two weeks worth of meals if we ration carefully."

Elden nodded.

"You know what gets me the most?"

"What?"

"The horses are probably dead."

"Probably. Did you consider what I said?"

"I did. ...I wouldn't presume to tell you to hurry a decision like that, but-"

He turned and met her gaze.

"-I look forward to hearing your answer."

Nellas grinned. She couldn't help it. Despite the gravity of the choice she had made and the consequences it bore, to have it over and done with was a huge relief.

"Actually, I brought it up because I already have an answer."

The words stopped him cold. High above, the moon was almost full and casting a gleaming silver light down onto their ad-hoc wooden shelter. She took his hand in hers, because it seemed the right thing to do at this point. They stood up, and together retired to their bedspread.

* * *

He had always thought that elves would feel as cold as the marble floors in Rivendell, but Nellas was actually quite warm. Suddenly he was acutely aware of how close they were. How comfortable they had become in each others personal space.

Her eyes met his, and he knew that she was thinking the same thing.

The kiss was more than warm, it was incredible. An explosion. She didn't stop there either, but instead pressed her body against his and continued to kiss him. Elden couldn't have let go if he wanted to. Small branches cracked underneath the quilt as they rolled over. Somehow she ended up on top of him, even as her nimble fingers unbuttoned his tunic. The magelight flared beside the entrance to the shelter, but Nellas made no move to keep it in check. The warmth was all around him, and inside of him too, it felt.

They had one chance of survival, and that was to cross the Misty Mountains at the Hoarwell river and make a break for greener pastures and sunlit uplands. The thought of those things made him realize how distant they were, and how far they had still to go, but as he and Nellas embraced one another with reckless abandon, he thought he had found a slice of those heavenly climes right here inside their meager lean-to.

**(A/N: I'm sorry about the delay in updating. My life is in a state of upheaval right now, lots of things to focus on and I've had to scale back on other projects, including my beta reading. I won't be abandoning this story, however. I've got the last four chapters all plotted out, and it should be finished within the next month or so. Every time I find a space in my schedule, I'll work on the next bit. Thanks for sticking with me, and as always, reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated.)**


	13. At Dawn Their Bodies Are Weary

Deep and cold flows the Hoarwell, running flat across the fields and gullies, getting smaller all the time, until at last it is no more than a stream cutting into the living rock of the Misty Mountains. By then the trees were long gone. Even grasses could not grow on these slopes. Some bore snow all winter and had not thawed since the making of Arda. The air was especially thin, and they halted often, mostly on Elden's account as he was both a human and a pipe-smoker, neither of which lent themselves to keeping pace with an elf in sparse atmosphere.

There was no longer any trail. Only the most desperate souls passed through this way, in the dead of winter no less. The going was slow and miserable, on account of the caution required in walking across a slightly slanted stone surface that was covered with frozen water. To their right was a sheer wall, and just a few feet to their left was an icy chasm bounded by another vertical rock wall that lead down to the river and certain death. Elden kept his eyes averted. He hated heights.

The journey to reach this point had been equally miserable, perhaps worse. At least now the constant darkness of the storm had lifted. They had emerged on the flank of the North Downs and had proceeded directly across the plains, crossing over the southern reaches of Angmar's old realm and meeting the Hoarwell just south of the Ettenmoors.

It had taken them almost a month, and exhausted two thirds of their food supply.

They hadn't said much to each other along the way, there was no need. During the day they marched, breaking once for a meal, and then another before bed. At night they held each other tight as the freezing winds whipped at the fabric tent they had stretched out using tree branches. Elden was certain that the only thing that had kept them alive was Nellas's magelight. Otherwise they would both certainly be frozen solid somewhere. And to think he had once threatened those two southrons with the same fate...

"Are we taking another break?"

Elden snapped back to the present and found that he had stopped walking.

"No, sorry." Elden said, resuming the pace immediately. "Just... daydreaming for a moment."

The chasm went on for a very long time, and he was just beginning to wonder if they would be forced to spend the night sleeping on a narrow shelf of rock next to a precipice, the end wound into view. They stepped out into the sunlight, both of them shading their eyes from the unexpected brightness. The slopes of the mountain were gentler on this side, and past the initial rocky outcrops covered with ice, the landscape broke down into a pile of loose rocks. The Hoarwell branched at the base of the Misty Mountains, forming a wide loop with its two tributaries which rejoined one another and poured into the Anduin. This wide circle of land was marshy and full of reeds, but there were plenty of solid paths, as long as you didn't put your foot wrong. Across the Anduin's far shore lay the boughs of Mirkwood, deep and imposing. In between all this lay thick, green grass. It was as though they had stepped into another world where spring was already beginning.

They carefully made their way down the shale, slipping and sliding in some places, and ignoring the resulting cuts and scrapes. Without hesitation they both plunged into the reeds, which grew several feet taller than their heads and obscured most of the world beyond a few paces in any direction.

Little roads of dirt wound through the marsh. Just as Elden was beginning to wonder if they were deer trails or human ones, Nellas caught sight of something that erased all doubt.

"Look." She said, pointing a finger.

A human skull sat atop a wooden stake that had been pounded into the ground. A sign hung across it read "Turn Back".

They both looked at each other for a moment, and then at the world all around them, searching for a pair of prying eyes.

"I don't know about you, but I don't intend to turn back." Elden said.

"Neither do I." Nellas replied. "It's probably decades old anyway."

That said, no sooner had Elden placed another foot down than an arrow came whistling out of the blue and impacted just feet from them. They both jumped. It had struck the earth at an angle, and the feathers pointed back up to the hills they had just vacated. With her sharp eyes, Nellas could see men moving among the rocks.

"We must have walked right by them..." Nellas muttered.

Elden grabbed her hand and half-led, half-dragged her onward.

"Well lets not stick around, shall we?"

They ran blindly onwards, crashing through the reeds without pause to find a trail or path to keep their feet dry. When Nellas looked back she could see men on horses entering the marshy area, looks of eager violence their faces. The first arrow was followed by a volley that smacked the ground all around them. Through a break in the vegetation up ahead, Nellas could see the Anduin rushing on down it's endless march to the sea.

"Come on!" She yelled. "We have to swim, it's our only chance!"

When she turned back, however, she found Elden on all fours. A feathered shaft was sticking out of his shoulder blade at a funny angle, and a steady drip of blood was coming from it. She could see the grins on the horsemen closing in in a rough semicircle, doubtless thinking they had them trapped.

So Nellas closed her eyes, and sang a song of vengance. It was short and terrible, and when it was done a great fire sprang up around them, hissing as it ate up the damp reeds and decaying logs. Nellas wrapped her arm around Elden's torso and leaped from the bank, tossing them both into the foam.

The raging current clawed at their bodies, yanking them this way and that. Twice they smashed into the sandy bottom, and on the second time Nellas felt her hold on Elden falter and break. There was only a moment to gasp for air before she was submerged once more.

* * *

Time seemed to speed away from him. Dark clouds swirled all around as he tumbled ever onwards. Faces leered out of the gloom. Many of them he knew. His father. His sister. The Southrons. The horses. They all passed before him and were swallowed up. Many more, though, he did not know. A sour-faced man with one eye. A girl in a radiant dress, her eyes alight with laughter. A young boy, dressed in the clothes of a street urchin.

At last he came to rest, and the clouds parted but briefly to show him a face he loved. Nellas.

Slowly, he became aware that this face was real, back-lit not by darkness, but by a radiant blue sky. Wet sand was at his back, and there was a terrible pain in his shoulder.

"Elden! Can you hear me? I have to take it out!"

Suddenly he felt a hand grasping at the source of the pain, and it intensified a thousand-fold. He screamed and grabbed her hand, trying to pry it back, but it might as well have been the wind trying to move a stone. The agony grew to a zenith, and something was wrenched loose. Then he fell into darkness once more.

* * *

Nellas sat on the bank of the river, watching Elden. She had managed to stem the bleeding and make his sleep comfortable with a remedy made of plants gathered near their landing point, but there was not much else she could do except wait. He had lost a lot of blood.

The cold and snow seemed to have been left behind now, but there was still a chill in the air. The river had mercifully spared their lives and tossed them ashore on the western bank, nothing short of a miracle consider what usually happened to those who found themselves unexpectedly swimming in the Anduin. The mountains were to her back, and on the far bank she could see the long green wall of Mirkwood extending for miles in either direction. She had traveled this river several times in her younger years, but now she saw it in a new light. She felt she could understand why and how the Rohirrim had come about. The only way to cross these vast green plains was with an alliance between those that went on two legs and those that went on four.

Briefly she thought about the friends they had left buried in the mountain, but she was not in the mood to mourn. Her present sorrows were sufficient without adding more. And yet... something about her did not feel sorry at all. Imladris was a long ways away, but farther down the river on the same bank as they now lay was Lorien, her birthplace. Her hair, which Elden had insisted that she cut short to avoid attracting attention, was beginning to grow out again. The sun was smiling. The day was beautiful. They had survived.

Presently, she got up and moved Elden's unconscious form to rest underneath the shade of a large oak tree. Then she began to explore her surroundings, softly singing a song in the tongue of men as she did so. Elden had taught it to her in Bree, and now it floated back up out of the recesses of her mind and bubbled on her lips.

"When the wind blows and the leaves all are down, come to me love in your best dressing gown... Sing to me softly and cradle me close, you are the one that I care for the most..."

On the tallest hill west of the bank, the ruins of a watchtower overlooked them. She thought about walking up to see what remained, but she did not want to leave Elden alone in case he woke up and thought she had abandoned him. Instead she poked through the thick reeds along the water's edge. There was a small lily pad that grew in the streams and rivers in this region, and it's flower could be ground to make a potent pain-relief remedy.

When she first saw the boat, her mind dismissed it as a stick of driftwood wedged in the mud at a funny angle, but when she looked again she realized that it was the bow of a small vessel. It had become hopelessly tangled underneath the plants that grew around it, but with a few strokes of her blade it drifted free. She reached out and grabbed hold of the rope that had doubtless once moored it to a fisherman's camp farther upstream. The rotten fibers strained and broke underneath her grip, and she just managed to seize onto the side of it to keep it from floating away, splashing muddy water on herself as she did so.

For some reason this made her laugh aloud. It could be the memories of playing in the muck after heavy spring rains, or it could simply be the strange stillness that surrounded them on all sides. She had never thought emptiness could be so vast, but as she looked around her heart leaped with wonder, as though seeing it all for the first time. There were no family or friends about her, save for Elden. They were not on a journey to parts elsewhere, they WERE elsewhere, and the journey was all around them, it's destination wonderfully uncertain. It was a glorious feeling, at once terribly freeing and terribly lonely in a way that was hard to put into words. Now she felt she understood how Elden had come to be the person he was. No one could long endure this feeling without growing a hard shell. It was a beautiful place to be lost in, but if you were not firm it just might suck the purpose from you and leave you a wanderer forever.

She found a long stick and planted it firmly in the ground, before knotting the broken rope back together and tying the boat off. She sat down beneath the shade of the oak to rest.

**[A/N: The bad news is, there are only four chapters to go, but the good news is that they're all going to be larger than this one (well, except for #4). Thanks for reading.]**


	14. They Long For A Rest Of Their Own

When he woke he was staring up at a perfectly clear sky. It was so deep and so blue he felt as though he could be swallowed up at any moment. It was perfectly quiet save for the gentle rustle of the wind and the splash of water.

He felt a gentle rocking underneath him, and when he looked over he could see that they were sitting in a small boat, as the jeweled surface of the Anduin wound under them. They were a single speck of dirt, floating across the surface of a sapphire. Nellas was crouched at the helm of the boat, watching.

"Are we dead?" He asked, jokingly.

His voice was dry and hoarse. He had not used it in some time.

"You were close." She replied. "I almost didn't stop the bleeding in time."

There was a long silence. Elden could still feel the pain throbbing in his shoulder, but it was distant now, replaced by a strange fog.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Saving my life."

Nellas frowned slightly.

"Well, I almost took it when you first arrived in Imladris, so I suppose we are even."

Elden laughed, and then winced in pain.

"Let's hope I don't give you reason to regret your decision."

She had to smile. There was something about the idleness with which Elden jested about death that thrilled her. Stiffly, Elden pushed himself upright, leaning his back against the hard wooden lip of the boat. He rummaged around inside his pack, the interior of which was surprisingly dry considering how thoroughly the great river had soaked them. His clothes were only now beginning to dry off. He withdrew a well-creased map and stared at the Anduin, and then at the banks drifting past them. It was impossible to tell exactly how far along they were without more distinctive landmarks.

"How is your arm?" Nellas inquired.

"It feels very strange. I can barely move it."

"That is to be expected." She replied. "I did not have a needle and thread, so I was forced to rely on my own healing abilities to close the wound, which I am ashamed to say I have neglected in favor of... more practical skills."

"Like lighting everything on fire?" Elden said.

"Like lighting everything on fire." She confirmed with a wry smile. "You would have done the same thing if you could perform... what did you call it?"

"Magic." He said.

"Magic..." Nellas repeated, rolling the word around on her tongue. "What a funny thing to call it."

Elden shrugged.

"I didn't invent it."

Up ahead the river curved sharply, forming a large letter C that returned to its original course a few hundred yards later. Nellas grasped a long, muddy stick that had been sitting behind her and used it to push the boat onto a new trajectory, although the swift-moving current did most of the work.

"Do you know where we are?"

"Not for certain." Elden said. "Once we pass the Old Ford I will be able to see how quickly we are making progress."

"The river is taking on the melt water early this year. We should reach Lorien before the day is out." Nellas said.

A massive shadow fell over the both of them, and they looked up in wonder to behold the largest bird either of them had ever seen. It wheeled left, following the bend of the river, and as they duplicated it's path a moment later, they saw the river split and gave way to both sides of a massive granite outcrop. To one side of it there were stones placed at regular intervals, not wide enough for a boat to pass through.

"Carrock..." Nellas mused, staring up at the rock, her oar forgotten.

"Left!" Elden cried, but Nellas was already in action.

He looked back as they whizzed past, entering an area of faster current. He could see several eagles perched in the sun, as well as a brown shape that looked an awful lot like a bear. They were really moving now, winging along, powering effortlessly through the curves. The trees on either side began to grow in size and number until they were crowding around the bank.

They were gaining even more speed, and the river began to grow shallower. As the current leaped and foamed, their boat wobbled dangerously.

"I can't steer it anymore, the current is too strong!" Nellas said over the noise.

"Give it here!" Elden replied, holding out a hand for the stick.

She gave it to him, and instead of trying to push off of the bottom of the river he held it in the water trailing behind the boat, using it as a makeshift rudder. Any minute now... any minute they would strike a barely submerged rock, or rub the tide the wrong way and flip over, he knew it. And as he stared down at the rushing water, he knew that this time the river might not be so forgiving. Yet minute after minute crawled by, and they did not. He shouted to Nellas and she came and switched places with him, allowing him to give his tired arm a break. The other one was almost completely limp now, although it still had feeling. It was starting to worry him, and the pain was coming back, harder and faster as Nellas's cures subsided. The trees zoomed by, and suddenly there was a break, and the river grew even shallower. As they passed through the Old Ford, Elden got a brief glimpse of the road, which was empty except for a single train of oxen far off in the distance. Then this view was snatched away as quickly as it had come.

Gradually, the pace of the river grew slower. Nellas's iron grip kept them steady, and on the right course. His mind was pulled back to the wound, and he clutched at his shoulder in vain, as though he could massage the stabbing ache away.

"Don't touch the bandages!" Nellas said, and Elden recoiled.

"Sorry..."

"Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Both of us have, don't you remember?" Elden said, attempting to crack a joke to draw attention away from his pain.

It was no use. The agony was clear in his voice.

"I meant you look pale. Here, drink the rest of this." She said, taking one hand from the rudder stick and rummaging in her pack. She produced the sickly green bottle and slid it across the bottom of the boat, which was slick with water. Both of them were soaked again from the splashing. He snatched it up, pulled the cork loose and downed the thing in one, desperate for relief.

The medicine settled over him in waves, lulling him into an uncomfortable waking dream. Everything seemed to be moving more slowly, and yet more quickly at the same time. Around them, the undergrowth on the banks grew thicker, and the space behind the trees, darker. Everything was expanding and contracting gently, as if the fabric of the world was breathing. Nellas's words echoed as though they were still standing in the cavernous halls at Fornost.

"The Gladden Fields are close. We are not far from Lorien now. You only need to hold on a little longer."

He didn't know what was in Lorien that concerned them, but whatever it was, it was better than the place they were currently in. On either side, the river grew choked with reeds. Thick clouds of flies buzzed angrily, and little creeks stole water from the stream to feed their own private, mushy domains, green with pond scum. Only the center current still moved quickly. It was bordered by dark waters which moved only gently. Then the trees fell away, and they were alone in the marsh.

The river's course grew circumspect once again, winding this and that. All sorts of false paths offered themselves up, breaks in the reeds which looked suspiciously like the right way, but were in fact only pools of that dark water. There was something menacing about it, and he lay down in the boat and averted his gaze, trying to pretend it didn't exist. Afternoon was wearing on into sunset, and he got the distinct impression that this was a place they wanted to be well clear of by nightfall. The moon had arrived early, and stared down at them sullenly.

In the stillness, the rings whispered to one another.

_Yaresse, i melko fuume sinome..._

_I qualin er enyala i atalkorma._

If Nellas heard this, she said nothing.

* * *

Many leagues down stream, another pair of good friends watched the sun set over Gondor. Victory had quickly returned the city to it's former glory, and the news had brought a flood of new arrivals from all corners of the realm and places far beyond where refugees had hoped to escape what had seemed like an imminent conquest for the dark lord. There had been so many that lodging in the city had quickly become exhausted, and those wishing to make their fortunes in the new epicenter of Middle Earth were obliged to create unsightly shanty towns that stretched in a wide arc along the roads leading into Gondor. Osgiliath had also been repopulated, although it was still little more than a ruin, it had become a trading hub of sorts, a second Gondor within arms reach of the first. The victory had not brought peace, however, and although this was not exactly a surprising thing to Legolas, who had been alive to witness plenty of kings rise and fall, it still weighed on his mind. The end of one war had brought the start of another, a campaign that could only be described as revenge. He had not mentioned this to Aragorn and did not plan to. He felt oddly detached from the whole thing, knowing that soon he would be on a boat to a far green country. What happened after his chapter in history would be for others to decide.

Gimli had been uncharacteristically quiet the whole day.

"Something on your mind, old friend?"

"That there is." the dwarf said. "Last night I was present at the steward's council, and I heard... troubling things."

"Such as?"

"Talk of new kingdoms. Talk of conquest. Talk of empire. Not idle talk, either. These humans worry me greatly, Legolas. I fear we have defeated a great evil only to allow a lesser one to grow in it's place."

Legolas nodded.

"I too have heard of these plans, and I too think they are ill-advised, but I have great faith in Aragorn's ability to keep the baser instincts of men in check, and I urge you to do the same. I suspect this boasting and braggadocio will fall silent upon his return. His authority is unquestionable."

"Aye, but is he incorruptible? I wonder..."

"He was the only mortal man I saw who ever turned down a chance to take possession of the ring. If there is any who can guide these people to a better tomorrow, it is him."

"I suppose you are right, as usual." Gimli said, with a sigh.

He got to his feet, an action which only changed his height by about six inches.

"Our presence has been requested in Edoras. There is a feast the week after next, and the King of the Mark has designated us the guests of honor."

"Yes, I saw the letter." Legolas said, stretching his slender frame like a cat just waking from a long nap.

"I know you plan to leave tonight and arrive early, but I wish to stay in Gondor a while longer."

"What for?"

"Certainly not the food." Legolas said, with a wry smile. "I... had a dream last night. It told me that I would meet someone if I staid another three days."

"I see." said Gimli in a skeptical tone. "Well, I suppose I will meet you there then. So long."

As he left the balcony of the elven embassy, Legolas could hear him grumbling about "elves and their blasted premonitions..."

He smiled again, to himself. He wondered how Gimli would have taken the news if he had told him the whole truth: that he had seen a vision of a beautiful elven maiden arriving at Gondor alone, weary from travel and looking lost. Gimli probably would have roared with laughter and clapped him on the back, but for some reason Legolas had concealed the whole truth. The dream had been incredibly real, one of those rare moments of clarity that only comes outside the realm of waking thought. It would be foolish to discount it.

* * *

When Elden woke again, it was in a pool of cold sweat. His whole body felt numb, and while it was better than pain, it was not encouraging. He still could not move his arm, but the rest of himself was fine. He sat upright and looked around. The light of the moon beamed down at them between the branches, and massive roots sipped at the water on either side.

This forest was not like the others. The trees were not of any kind Elden had ever seen, neither oak nor pine nor birch nor fur. That funny feeling was on him again, the feeling that the whole world was not quite real, and that it really didn't matter one way or another. He thought he could hear a faint music, somewhere on the edge of hearing, but it wasn't loud enough to determine whether it was real or just a figment of his fevered imaginings.

"What are they?" he asked softly, his head spinning.

Nellas looked around, as if surprised that he was conscious.

"The Mellyrn. Mallorn trees. We are in Lothlórien."

"I'm awake, but... It feels like I'm still dreaming."

"I had to try something more radical to keep the wound under control. I think that arrow head was poisoned."

"That would make sense." Elden said.

Then he laughed strangely at his own monotone agreement. Was he so far past caring that being poisoned struck him as amusing? Perhaps. Then again, it could be Nellas's potion.

He sat in silence for some time, watching the trees go by. It was an incredibly beautiful forest, but there was something foreboding about it too. In between the branches he could see dark causeways lit only by moonlight. Connections arced between the trees, and here and there there were doors and windowsills and balconies. Though the music was getting clearer as the current bore them onward, not a soul could be seen to stir. There were no torches lit. Nobody was waiting for them.

And then he glanced over at the other bank, and saw something.

A pale elven woman, just as beautiful as Nellas but obviously much older. She was dressed in white and she had him fixed with that piercing stare that only elves can give. On her finger was a tiny chunk of starlight that gleamed brightly. Then she turned, and was gone.

It happened so quickly that a few minutes later, he wasn't sure if he had actually seen it.

"Where are we going?" Elden asked, at length.

"To Caras Galadhon, the Naith of the forest. If there is help to be found, we will find it there."

The night was unseasonably warm, but Elden still felt terribly cold even with his cloak wrapped about him. The wood was getting thicker as they progressed, just as before, but now the trees were growing grander and taller as well. Nellas used the stick to push the boat over to bank of the river, and tied it off to a large tree root. As Elden disembarked, the feeling of foreboding was joined by something else: awe.

As he stared up into the sky his night eyes could see that it stretched up an incredible distance, seeming to brush up against the stars themselves, what few could be seen through the thick canopy. Although it was only partway into the first month of spring, all of the leaves were tinted a rich, golden yellow. Some of them had fallen to earth, but most were still attached, clinging to their mother even as the mother grew weaker.

Elden shook his head like a dog trying to dislodge a troublesome fly.

Perhaps it was just Nellas's magic making him strange, but he thought he could almost _feel_ the forest breathing. It was slow, weary breathing. A creature still awake after a hard day's work, anticipating rest. The ring seemed to have grown a littler warmer as it lay against his chest. He walked on in a dream, blindly following Nellas as they plunged deeper into the undergrowth. It looked like there used to be well worn pathways where they were walking, but grass and ferns had been allowed to sprout and stretch outwards, in some places completely obscuring the way. The horn of his boot caught on something and without his left arm to steady himself he went crashing to the ground.

Nellas turned and helped him up.

"Come on, just a little further."

Some of the trees had doors in them. Some had pathways spanning between their upper reaches, places where people had lived, loved, and reveled, and did so no more. Many of these appendages seemed to have been rejected by the trees. Here and there a door lay flat on it's face, forcibly ejected as it's doorway closed up.

"The elves sang to these trees, and their songs twisted the bark and branches to their will." Nellas explained, anticipating his question. "Now that the song has stopped, the trees will go back to their natural state."

"It doesn't sound like it's stopped..." Elden said, rubbing his ear.

"What you are hearing is the closing act of a great symphony. I only wish you could have heard it at its peak."

They passed through a gap between two massive trunks, and there stood the largest tree Elden had ever seen. It's branches blossomed outwards like a mushroom, and here all the doors and pathways were still very much attached.

Something in the upper branches was glowing. It was a warm light, green and yellow, the color of sunlight filtering through a thick canopy in the dog days of summer. Now, though, the effect was not comforting, but eerie. The light shifted, throwing strange, twisting shadows onto the forest floor as they walked. The two of them ascended a sharply spiraling staircase that led them upwards. Just as Elden's legs were screaming that they could go no further, they arrived on the landing.

It was a wide wooden veranda with many chairs growing out of it, and when he looked he realized he could see out over the entire forest. Even this impressive sight was obscured, however, by the source of the glow. It looked like a bundle of sticks and branches tightly clustered. It hovered a few feet above the center of the veranda, turning slowly. The ring was now almost painfully hot, and he reluctantly removed it from it's chain and placed it in his pocket.

"What... is that?" He asked, pointing at the object.

"I'm not sure." Nellas replied. "But I have a theory. Let me do the talking."

"The talking?" Elden said, suddenly feeling ill at ease.

It was too late to object. Nellas stepped forward, reached out a solitary finger, and placed it against the shell of energy that surrounded the creature. At her touch it instantly began to change, turning a bright red and vanishing. The branches began to unfold, and a moment later a figure that looked remarkably like a man made of trees appeared. It turned first to regard Elden, and he saw that the fierce green light was in it's eyes. Suddenly he was completely paralyzed, unable to move a muscle. The singing that had thus far remained on the edge of hearing now surged to the fore, and the words changed. He could not understand what they said, but they were not friendly.

Into this otherworldly cacophony, Nellas's voice interjected itself.

"Please, that won't be necessary. He is a friend."

At once the singing ceased. Not entirely, but it resumed its placed in the background, alongside the rustle of branches and the hiss of the wind as it pushed its way through the trees.

"**It has been many years since we heard the tongue of men spoken here, Nellas, forest-child. It has been even longer since we heard an elf speak it."**

"Times have changed." Nellas said. "You know my name?"

"**We know all the names."** The creature said. **"Every one that has traveled beneath these boughs, and many more besides. Tell us, what brings you here, in the twilight of Lothlorien? Indeed, as you say, times have changed. We hope you did not expect to find old friends. Most of them are long gone."**

"No, I did not expect to find friends, but I did expect to find help."

"**Then your wish may yet be granted. Tell me what it is you desire, and we will see if it can be so."**

"My friend is hurt badly, and my skills are not enough to heal it permanently."

Elden tried not to recoil as the creature reached out a gnarled hand and grasped his shoulder. It's touch was delicate, but he could feel an incredible strength driving those fingers.

"What are you?" Elden asked.

"**You... I..."** The creature mused as it palpitated the wound, examining it from this angle and that. **"Strange words indeed. You humans would call me a Spriggan, I believe, but what "I" am is not important. What matters is what we are."**

"So... who is 'we'?" Elden asked again.

Before the Spriggan could reply, Nellas answered for it.

"A creature wrought out of the living forest. A sort of guardian, if I am not mistaken."

"**Correct, forest-child."** The Spriggan rumbled. **"There were those that did not wish to make the journey, and so they chose to dwell within me instead, so that they could devote what little power they had left to maintaining the forest. I do not speak for myself, I speak for them."**

The Spriggan removed its hand and allowed Elden to pull the edge of his tunic back over his shoulder.

"**We are afraid the wound is poisoned. It is a crude toxin, dried adder venom, but it has done its work. The muscle is severely damaged. In our current state, we cannot help you."**

"What?!" Elden said, somewhat disbelievingly.

"**If you would let us finish,"** the Spriggan said, a hint of an edge creeping into it's voice which instantly humbled Elden, **"you would hear us say that while WE cannot help you directly, Nellas ****can."**

"How?" Nellas said, surprised. "My healing powers are mediocre at best."

"**Yes, we know child, you always were more apt at breaking things than at fixing them. However, we can act through you. We can give you the strength you need to help your friend. First, though, you must relinquish your rings."**

This statement seemed to have a sharp edge to it that cut through the fog.

"No." Elden said, instinctively.

"**No?" **The spriggan said, examining him with a single, glowing eye. **"No!? You would rather die than give up that ring for but a moment? We are truly baffled by your species, human. Your minds turn in strange circles."**

"I am sorry if I appear insolent, but I've lost this ring once before and it caused me much pain and grief to find again. I will not let it out of my sight again." He replied firmly.

"**That may be, but as long as you carry it, you are a ring-bearer, and that means that you are beyond even our help. Besides, we do not mean to keep it. It need not leave your gaze."**

Reluctantly, Elden placed a hand in his pocket and withdrew the ring. The spriggan held out a knotted palm, but he paused. The ring dangled from it's chain like a pendulum, uncharacteristically heavy. Nellas watched his eyes follow it hypnotically, and then, with an effort, he let it slide from his palm. Nellas slid hers from her finger as well, with rather less effort, although there was still a twinge of unease as it left her hand.

The spriggan took the rings and placed them both on the throne-like chair that sat in the epicenter of the dais.

"**Lie down now, human."** The spriggan said, indicating the flat area in front of the throne.

Although he wasn't particularly enthusiastic about letting either the creature or the rings leave his field of vision, he did as he was told. The wood was cool, and felt good against his hot and aching head, and his wound. Nellas knelt at his side, and the spriggan placed it's hand on her shoulder. The glow of sunlight that beamed inside the creature's interior pulsed, and Nellas grew slightly rigid, and then relaxed. When she opened her eyes again, they were glowing with that same otherworldly color.

"Nellas!" Elden said, beginning to get up.

"**Be still, human."** Said Nellas and the spriggan in unison, an eerie chorus of voices. **"She is safe in our company."**

The creature placed Nellas's hand on his forehead, and in an instant, he was gone.

Flying. It was the only way he could describe the sensation. Tumbling through the endless aether, his surroundings utterly void and grey, no ground to stop his fall. He felt alone and utterly helpless against this massive tide, this power that shunted him.

A voice echoed through his mind, and although it was in a different language, somehow he could understand the meaning.

**"It will be difficult to control, you must focus."**

Elden felt his back tingle, and clutched at it. The fog of the potion was abating rapidly. As the strange feeling of being somewhere else lifted, layer by layer, the pain came roaring back. He felt his shoulder explode as though the arrow had just struck it again. He could almost hear that terrible _thwip_ as the shaft embedded itself in him over and over in his mind. His eyes were shut tight, and he knew he was screaming because his mouth was open. Still, it sounded like someone else's voice. Someone desperate.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUGH! MAKE IT STOP, PLEASE! PLEASE!"

Then he heard Nellas's voice, choked with tears.

"I am trying, Elden- hold on..."

"**You must focus child!"**

Then there was another jerk, and they were gone, flung in an utterly new direction. This direction had substance. Ground on which to stand.

Memories flashed by, hundreds of them, almost too quickly to catch. A small, diminutive boy, working alone in the shop alongside his father. Many songs. Many stories. Although there was not much food, there was love, and it was enough. As the images continued to whip through the aetherium, the boy got older. Winter thawed to spring. Crops were sown. He chopped wood, fed hogs, painted fences. His father sent him to the next county alone to work on a barn. He slept under the stars, with only a hunting knife and a walking stick to protect him and a single traveling cloak to act as his bed. Spring wore on into summer. On those nights when it was too hot and muggy to sleep, he crept out of his bed and wandered down to the creek that divided their plot of land from the next. Often the neighbor girl would be there, and she would kiss him in a way that made his brain go all fuzzy. Summer gave way to fall, and he was hard at work pulling the ripened roots from their soil. Once his share was done he took his tools and walked down the lane to work for another man whose son had died. He was not very nice, but they did not have the luxury of passing up the money. As fall began to grow colder father and son made the yearly journey down the Entwash to Gondor, where they sold their stock and returned home on the back of a passing wagon.

Soon the boy had grown into a man, and then one day, the father disappeared. He left with a company of rough men, the helmet hanging off-kilter on his tall, sloped forehead. The spear looked odd in his weathered hands, but he grasped it with the confidence of someone who has held one all his life. The young man watched them leave, and then hid himself away where no one could see him and wept. He felt weak. Alone. The pattern of seasons continued to crawl by, but the farm ceased to be tended. The neighbor girl met him at the creek no longer, as her family had moved the previous year. He kept the house in good repair, but tended no crops. At night he took company with ruffians and women of the night who dwelt in the ramshackle houses near the walls of Edoras. He drank, gambled, and cavorted throughout the town, long after the respectable people had gone to bed. Someone introduced him to pipe smoking, which he greatly enjoyed. He began to steal. Little things. A needle and thread. A pretty brass watch. A beautiful knife with an ivory handle.

Then one of the regent's men came to call one day, and brought the news that had shattered him. His father was dead.

From here the memories grew more scattered, less focused. Tears. Strong drink. Fighting. Long afternoons lying prostrate on the straw, waiting for death to come and take what so obviously belonged to it. When this did not happen, the old pattern resumed, this time with more frenzy. Again he was caught, but this time they locked him in the cell and would not let him out. He was led in shackles before the regent, who gave him the choice of prison or service under arms. Afraid and exhausted, the young man chose the latter, and when he was sent to the barracks under his own recognizance, he chose a different path and fled Edoras.

It was foolish, desperate, and impatient. He had nothing but the clothes on his back, and he did not make it far until they found him lying in a ditch, exhausted and filthy. He was beaten. This time the shackles deposited him before the Lord Regent, who turned up his nose in disgust and ordered an immediate execution. The brand of death was seared into his flesh: a grim skull that resembled the mask of Mandos. The hangman had gone home for the day, however, and could not be summoned back. He was left in the stockades in the square.

Three days passed, and each day there was a delay. Sometimes people jeered or threw things at him, but mostly he was looked at with pity, which seemed to hurt worse than the stones or the cold. At last, one frigid night, the guard fell asleep. His wrists were thin enough to slip through the wooden holes, although he had carefully concealed this fact from the watch for three days while he waited for his chance. The latch was thin and rusted, and broke easily with the right leverage from his neck. The guard was deep in slumber, and did not notice. So too was the Lord Regent, and his sleeping form failed to see a shadow stealing into his bed chamber and making off with his prized possessions: an elven short sword and a curious ring that had been found in a troll-horde to the north.

This time they did not catch him. He fled west, stopping only to steal a horse at Helm's Deep.

Not long after that, he came to a place known by the humans as "Rivendell", and there he met an elf.

* * *

When he came to, it felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Not one shoulder, but both.

In amazement he opened his eyes blearily and flexed his hand. It responded sluggishly, thick with pins and needles, but it was there. He rubbed it, eager to regain circulation. When he looked over, Nellas was sitting right next to him. Once again, he was taken aback by how completely silent she could be when she wanted to. Not even her breathing made a sound if she did not wish it to. They shared a look that spelled relief in every feature, and then embraced as though they had met one another for the first time after a long absence.

"Thank you." He breathed softly in her ear. "Looks like I owe you another favor."

"I think I know a way you can repay me..." she replied.

**"Curious..." **The spriggan rumbled, and they both broke apart immediately, feeling naked under it's gaze.

"**There has not been a mated pair of human and elf in many years. You may be the last."**

At the word "mated", Nellas blushed profusely.

"How did... how did you know?"

The spriggan laughed, and it was a pleasant, mirthful sound, filled with the echo of many voices laughing in unison.

"**It could hardly be more obvious, my child. The bonds between you and he shine clearer than the sun itself."**

They exchanged a glance and Elden had to suppress a guilty laugh.

"I suppose we didn't make a great effort to hide it." Nellas said.

"**Nor should you. Love is meant to be shared. Now, we must go out into the forest, for a great change is about to occur, and we must consult with the creatures of the wood that remain, as it concerns all of them. We would ask that you sleep here tonight, as we have more to say to you come morning."**

With that, the creature walked out onto the expansive balcony and jumped. There was no accompanying thud, but Elden could make out a large figure moving from branch-to-branch with a surprising speed and agility for its bulk. As soon as it was out of sight, Elden went and retrieved the rings. Nellas accepted hers without comment, but did not put it on again, as she had for the past few days. They lay out their sleeping rolls side by side, and sat in silence for a while, staring up through what Elden had earlier assumed to be the ceiling, but was in fact just a particularly thick collection of branches. It was getting late now, and the moon had passed its apex, beginning the slow descent back to earth.

"Who was the girl by the creek?"

Elden was surprised.

"You saw that?" He said.

"I saw everything."

His expression must have betrayed what he was feeling, because she quickly qualified the statement.

"I mean, not everything of course, but most of it."

"I don't know who she was. I don't even remember her name. I just came down one night and there she was."

"It's none of my business." Nellas said.

"You're right, it isn't." Elden said, smiling. "But I don't mind telling you."

There was another long silence. They were both looking at each other, but their gaze was unfocused, each thinking of what the future held for them. Where would they go from here?

"If Gondor turns out to be suitable I would like to settle down there. Start a new life."

Elden's heart skipped a beat.

"Does that mean you... you want us to be bonded?"

Nellas raised an eyebrow.

"I thought we already were."

"No, I didn't mean _that_." He said, blushing slightly.

"...is that how elves get married?" He ventured, after a slight pause.

"Pretty much." Nellas replied, grinning. "Betrothal ceremonies are for royalty. How do humans get married?"

"Well, let me see..." Elden said, wracking his brains.

This was one subject he had given almost no thought to his entire life, having assumed it would never apply to him. Then again, he had never expected to meet someone like Nellas.

"I haven't been to a wedding in a long time, but I'm pretty sure the man gets down on one knee, and presents the woman with a ring. Then he asks her if he will be his wife, and if she says yes, they have a huge feast at the husband's father's house and the family meets each other."

"And what do they do afterward?" Nellas asked, coyly.

"Everyone gets very drunk and then they go home."

"No, I mean the newlyweds."

"Well, they go home and... consummate the marriage."

"They fuck like rabbits, in other words." Nellas said.

"Pretty much..." Elden replied, a little sheepishly.

"See? There you go. We've already given each other rings. I've met what's left of your family, and you've met what's left of mine. All that's left is the fucking."

It was very odd to hear Nellas speak profanity in Westron, and yet at the same time he found it oddly arousing. He moved closer to her, sliding gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Ever the eager one, Nellas closed the gap and met his lips. With one fluid motion, she rolled off of her sleeping roll and onto his, determined to drive all thoughts of that girl by the creek out of his mind...

* * *

Nellas opened one eye and peered around. Daylight had crept in while she was unconscious, and it had brought the spriggan with it. She could hear voices; the strange, echoing lilt of the creature and... Elden's voice.

"When we were floating down the river, I saw a woman in white with a star on her finger. Was she real?"

"**It depends a great deal on what you mean by 'real', young one. What you saw was a memory that the trees have deep within them, a memory of Lady Galadriel. Whether it was 'real' or not is up to you."**

The spriggan was leaning against the railing, looking out over the forest, which looked the a swaying sea of green in the early morning breeze. Elden was perched next to him, pipe alight. Although she still didn't like the smell, she hadn't seen him smoking in a while, and there was something reassuring about it, as though it was a sign that everything was back to normal.

Whatever "normal" was...

Nellas came and sat on the opposite side of the creature.

"**Ah, you are awake, good. We, which is to say, the elders I contain and those that are bound to the trees, have come to a decision."**

"I did not know one was required." Nellas said.

"**Both of you are ring bearers. You can see and do things that others cannot. Every living thing remembers, even the grass and the insects. These memories are not lost. They do not die, but live on, stamped silently on other things, waiting for the one who can read them properly. Everything is bound up with memory. It is the transparent silk that binds our world together. These rings are no different. They have accumulated memories in the time that they were lost to history, many dark and painful. What was once merely a tool has begun to develop a despair of its own at the tasks to which it was put. Although their malevolence cannot be compared to the One Ring that was destroyed, they cannot be allowed to go forth into the world as they are."**

"They already ARE in the world," Nellas countered, "and it perhaps it is arrogant of me, but I believe that they have found their rightful masters. We could bury them in a hole but they would be dug up again. We could cast them into a river, but someone would find them. No fire can destroy them now that Mount Doom has gone silent. Better that we should have them than some madman."

"**You assume too much, and place too great of a store in your own abilities. There is a price for the kind of power these rings provide. Those who have seen what lies beyond grow weary of the confines of this world, as it cannot compare to those realms that lie farther out, invisible to us. Eventually they fade, just like this forest has faded. They go to the other places."**

"The... other places?"

"**There are many places in this world that neither foot nor boat nor cart nor steed can take you. They exist between the planes, out of thought and time."**

"I thought that the rings extended your lifespan?" Elden said.

"**Sauron's evil, and it's subsequent destruction sapped much of the power from the rings he had bound it to. Even Galadriel's ring, Nenya, became just a simple band. But these rings... these rings Sauron had no reckoning of, nor do any now left in Middle Earth know of them. The scholars who remember their making have all passed on to Valinor, and it is not accounted for in the history that is even now being written. When it is finished, the Red Book of Westmarch will make no mention of them. They do not even have names. Thus, while they have not been sapped by the destruction of the One Ring, they have been stained by it's dying. Their thoughts have become scrambled, primitive, and sometimes cruel. Which brings us back to the task at hand."**

"Which is...?" Elden said, warily, his ring grasped tightly in his fist.

"**Out of all the artifacts left in Middle Earth, those two are the most dangerous. They must be cleansed before they leave this place, and to do so will use up the remainder of our energy, causing our collective body to die. I have spoken with the others, however, and they agree that the time is right for this to happen. The old songs are slowly leaching out of this place, and we can only delay the day they are gone entirely, never stop it. Many of us tire of the earthly realm and wish to begin the next leg of our journey. Rather than waste the small remainder of our power in a futile effort, we will use it to remove the malice from these objects."**

"And what if I refuse?" Elden said.

"**There you would be very much mistaken, human, for I am not offering you a choice, but telling you what we have decided."**

"Elden, stop arguing!" Nellas said, leaving her seat on the railing.

Elden followed suit, the ring still clasped in his left hand.

"I appreciate your offer, but frankly, I prefer this thing the way it is."

He opened his palm, no longer looking at them now, but examining the ring carefully, as though looking for scratches on a family heirloom.

"Perhaps the things it says are sometimes... troubling, but it has saved my life, and yours too Nellas."

"What are you _talking _about Elden?" Nellas said, a tone of worry creeping into her voice.

"The ring betrayed Ferny, I'm sure of it. I would never have seen him otherwise. Without that ring, Mrs. Bones would have killed us both." Elden said, looking up not at her, but at the spriggan. "It belongs to me. It's mine. It chose me. I will not allow it to be meddled with."

"**We are disappointed to hear you say these words, but not surprised. You are not the first to say them, but hopefully, you will be the last." **The spriggan said sadly, raising it's gnarled hand.

A beam of light snaked out of it's palm and engulfed Nellas. Her eyes rolled back into her head instantly, and her ankles bent as she rose a few inches off of the ground. Elden's right arm had the elven blade unsheathed in a fraction of a second, but it was still much too slow. Another beam of light arced across the gap between them, striking him squarely in his left fist, which was closed around the ring. A scream of anger died instantly in his throat.

The singing had returned, surging to life on a current of energy. It echoed throughout every crevice of his mind. Now he saw not his own memories, but the memories of countless elves.

Years flew by like seconds. The people sang. The forest grew. The stars spun. Darkness waxed and waned. It was too big. Too much, too fast. The part of this vast tidal wave that was his own mind bobbed along, trying to remain on the surface. The currents were strong, though, threatening to suck him under and scatter his identity to pieces. The word "Elden" was a piece of flotsam that he clung to, it's syllables a reminder of the familiar that kept him from losing sight of it altogether and slipping into the roiling torrent of thought and emotion below. He repeated it over and over like a prayer.

Just as he was about to succumb, the sensation stopped abruptly. He found himself lying face down, the floor of the veranda coated in his sweat. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked around sluggishly. His body felt as though it had been utterly drained. Little ribbons of memory were still slipping between his own thoughts. A face. A laugh. A smile. A flower. A pair of pointed ears, bobbing ahead of him. And that music... strains of it still played somewhere in the recesses of his mind, snatches of a haunting chorus.

Nellas and he both sat silent for a time, looking at each other and trying to find words for what had just transpired.

Elden realized that he was still holding the ring. He opened his fist, gazing at it. There didn't seem to be any difference. He wanted to slip it on, to test its effect, but for some reason he did not.

"Elden."

The spriggan was gone. Not even a single branch or twig remained.

"Elden!"

"What?" Elden said, coming out of his reverie.

"What... what just happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

* * *

**A/N:**

_Yaresse, i melko fuume sinome.._

**Once upon a time, the mighty one slept here...**

_I qualin er enyala i atalkorma._

**The dead still remember the great ring.**

**I apologize for the long delay. It's been... what, a month and a half? I WILL be finishing this, however, it's just a matter of time. Once it's done it will be my longest story to date. Thank you for your patience, and as always, I love hearing your thoughts and opinions in detail. **


	15. They Searched in All The Wrong Places

**(A/N: Since this chapter is going to exceed 20 pages, I decided to cut it into two so I could give you the first half sooner.)**

* * *

It was another perfect day. Not a cloud in sight, and a gentle breeze that counteracted the glare of the afternoon sun. The boat bore them ever onwards, and though the current was swift, it was also gentle.

Elden had been lamenting the lack of a fishing rod all morning. By his reckoning they had been on the road for three months since leaving Imladris, which sounded right to Nellas's mind. During that time they had passed very few travelers on the road, but now they were beginning to see dozens of groups, from multiple wagon caravans to single pedestrians, almost all moving in the same direction they were: towards Gondor.

"Spring is a trading season, just like Fall." Elden had told her. "When the snows melt, people need to stock up on goods. Then in the fall, the trading season begins again when the crops are harvested."

He had even stopped a wagon and bought a strange, 5-stringed instrument from the seller while they were taking lunch on the shore. Instead of putting the scratchy cap over her ears and trying to pretend to be a human woman, Nellas had simply hid behind a bush and listened to the cheerful debate over the finer points of the instrument, which looked somewhat like a lute, yet smaller and more compact.

When she had asked him why he bought it, he smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and commenced to playing. He had been strumming off and on ever since, and the sound was actually not unpleasant.

"No more tears my heart is dry, I don't laugh and I don't cry, I don't think about you all the time but when I do I wonder why... you had to go out of my door, and leave just like you did before. I know I said that I was sure, but rich men can't imagine poor..."

He trailed off abruptly and stared down the river, as though trying to see something far off.

"Why do you always sing sad songs?" Nellas asked.

"Sad? You think so? Hmm. I never thought of it that way..." Elden replied. "Most of the good traveling songs I know were composed by lonely people. Humans have a melancholy streak in them, I suppose."

He looked down at his instrument for a moment, and then started up a new song, slower and more melodious.

"Rooound... Like a circle in a spiral... Like a wheel within a wheel... Never ending or beginning... On an ever spinning reel...

Like a tunnel that you follow... To a tunnel of it's own... Down a hollow to a cavern... Where the sun has never shone... Like a door that keeps revolving... In a half forgotten dream... Or the ripples from a pebble... Someone tosses in a stream..."

They floated along in a dream, and as Nellas watched him play, closing his eyes as he spoke the words from memory, she too was transported.

"Keys that jingle in your pocket... Words that jangle in your head... Why did summer go so quickly? Was it something that you said? Lovers walk along a shore... And leave their footprints in the sand...

Is the sound of distant drumming... Just the fingers of your hand? Pictures hanging in a hallway... And the fragment of this song... Half remembered names and faces... But to whom do they belong?"

Even so early in spring, the air had a breath of the summer to come. The banks were lined with white and purple flowers. A tingle ran up her spine at the smell that was wafting from them.

"When you knew that it was over... You were suddenly aware... That the autumn leaves were turning... To the color of her hair..."

It took her a moment to realize that he had stopped singing. She felt like she was floating back to the ground.

"Do you hear that?" He asked.

"Of course I did..." Nellas said, confused.

"No, not that, listen!"

She did, and what she heard caused her to twist round. A rushing, roaring noise. A lake's worth of water, crashing over the edge of a steep cliff.

"The Falls of Rauros!" She said. "But how are we this close?"

Elden did not waste any time, but attempted to steer them towards the bank. Progress was slow, as the water was too deep to push off the bottom, the current was not swift enough to let them steer easily, and the stick was too thin to serve as an oar.

"We may have to jump for it and swim." Elden said, checking the fastenings on his pack and throwing it on hastily before returning to their makeshift rudder.

"With all of our gear? We'll sink like stones."

"I said we MAY have to jump. We're not in trouble until we get to the big statues, I've seen this place before."

At these words they rounded a bend and the river widened dramatically. They were gradually making their way towards the western bank, but it was not fast enough. The stone visages of Isildur and Anárion towered over them, arms outstretched in warning. At the end they could see two clouds of foaming whiteness, divided by the unreachable isle of Tol Brandir, and a great stretch of land beyond, the floodplains of Nindalf that led down to the mountains into which Gondor was hewn. They were several miles away and closing fast. Even at this distance, Nellas knew the boat would not make it in time. Nen Hithoel was longer than it was wide, but that width was still several miles, and they had been cruising along close to the center of the river, where the current was gentler.

"Okay, I take it back. We are definitely going to have to jump." Elden said, cinching up the straps on his pack and double checking his pockets.

He pulled his ring out and slipped it on, apparently afraid the chain would break again. Nellas did the same. She looked at him one last time, and he was changed. His form was shrouded, though as an elf and a fellow ring-bearer, she could still see him. It was a black smoke that poured from his clothing and billowed in great plumes. When he turned to look at her, she saw the fire that burned in his eyes. Some would have been afraid, but she knew that fire itself was not evil. If it was properly kept and fed, it could be the most warm and helpful of servants. It was only when it was handled carelessly that others could get hurt. She had come to believe that this fire existed in both of them. It had kept them going through the long nights in the cold, when both of them had privately contemplated death as a preferable alternative to going another step. It was this fire that had delivered them from the clutches of Mrs. Bones. She had recognized it's glint when first she had him at her mercy all those sunlight afternoons ago in Imladris, and she had gravitated to it. Not blindly, like a moth, but like another lick of flame, joining to create an even greater inferno.

"Ready?"

She nodded, and as one they stood and leaped from the faithful craft. Nellas wriggled like a minnow, and was on the bank after only a few minutes, but Elden was having a bit more trouble. His load was just as large as hers, and he was not quite as strong as she. She ran along the bank of the river, watching with horror as he was dragged closer and closer to the falls. With only a few hundred yards to go, he managed to reach out and snag a tree root. She grabbed his pack and hauled him onto the shore, where he spent the next minute spitting up water.

"I have a confession to make." He said, between gasps.

"And what is that?"

"I never learned how to swim."

"How do you not know how to swim?" Nellas asked, puzzled.

To her it was almost as natural as breathing or walking.

"You forget I'm but a simple country bumpkin." He said with a grin, and she found herself grinning as well.

She looked back at the falls, but the boat was gone. She felt a slight pang. It had borne them faithfully for many miles without sinking, and it was a shame to see it destroyed. A realization came to her: this was the first time either of them had worn their rings since they sailed on from Lothlorien a few days ago. The world that it showed her eyes was different. Before she could see the barrier, the grey rain curtain that separated their world and the spirit world. Now it had been peeled back, and she could see the raw edges, chafing and fraying at one another. It felt like seeing double, with one version of the world perched just slightly behind the other, each phasing in and out gently, like the beat of some ancient heart.

Then she heard something else that distracted her from that thought, and she knew she was not imagining it, because Elden had heard it too: a horn.

It was being blown loud and long, as if in alarm. At the same time it sounded muffled. The noise wavered, as if coming up to them from the bottom of a well.

The silt and mud at the bank of the river was supported by deep roots, muck-weeds and evergreens that had grown here for hundreds of years. This faded rapidly into deep brown soil, with many trees. Farther out from the river, the land slopped upwards. They followed the gently winding trail in this direction, watching as strange shapes appeared all about them. Ghostly orcs dashed past, only to dissolve when they drew more than a few paces away.

"What are they, do you suppose?" Elden asked.

For the first time that she could remember, a note of fear crept into his voice. This in turn frightened her. As far as she had seen, there was very little that could genuinely scare Elden.

"Memories, I think." She said.

None of the creatures seemed to see them, and one even glided through her without any kind of sensation. Ahead of them, farther up the trail, was something that was not an orc. It looked almost like a child, with nut brown hair and a body that stood at least a foot and a half lower than his own. Like the orcs, it's outline was hazy and indistinct, and it cast no shadow as it moved through the patches of sunlight amidst the shade.

As they followed it, the cries of battle grew more distant, until at last they faded entirely, and the three of them were standing beside a great stone seat atop Amon Hen.

"The hill of seeing..." Nellas whispered.

The halfling, for Nellas realized that that was what it must be, turned and gazed off into the distance before fading from sight, just like the orcs. Nellas took the ring from her finger, and looked to where the apparition had been facing. Far away she could see the jagged peaks of Mordor, now devoid of Sauron's foul tower.

Immediately the noise of a distant horn stopped and the sound of bird song and wind rustling in the trees returned. She felt a little out of breath... not herself somehow. Elden removed his ring as well.

They stood there a long while, contemplating. It was Elden who broke the silence

"We should hunt. The lembas bread will run out soon."

* * *

The pot bubbled happily, sending the rich aroma of game wafting into her nose. She had developed a taste for meat, she realized, something almost unheard of in a forest elf. Elves could be carnivorous, but usually only did so out of the direst necessity. Then again, they hadn't any choice in the matter. The days of trekking through the leg-deepsnow past Morgoth's old realm had been the most brutal experience of her life so far, and it was only through Elden's seemingly mystical ability to trap game in any clime that they had gotten enough to eat. There was no time for honoring old traditions.

The cooking pot was the same one Elden has used back in Imladris. He was even stirring the same direction. She examined him as he contemplated the stew with a practiced eye, something she did often when he wasn't looking. And when he was.

Back then she had thought of him as a child, but her thinking had changed. Outwardly there was little change in his appearance, apart from the scar where the Rohirrim's arrow had cut his cheek, and the new one on his back from their encounter with bandits after crossing the Misty Mountains. It wasn't him that had changed, she realized, it was her. She knew him better now, how he thought, and how he felt. She knew now that his staid, sarcastic demeanor was a coping mechanism, and that his relatively slim figure disguised a muscular structure honed by long hardship. It always surprised her how strong he was when they embraced one another, feeling each muscle contract and expand where their skin met. His body temperature was slightly lower than hers. Whether this was endemic to his species or just peculiar to him, she knew not.

He looked up, and caught her staring.

"Something on your mind?"

She pursed her lips, thinking of a question that had been bugging her.

"Elden... what do you remember about the war?"

Elden removed the spoon from the pot and leaned it up against his pack, so as to avoid getting dirt on it.

"Very little. I was only eight winters old when it ended. I remember my father going out to fight, when the orcs threatened Edoras, and again when we were all evacuated to Helm's Deep. I remember the noise of their marching, even all the way down in the caves. I remember that when we came up on the fifth day, corpses littered the ground. The soil was soaked with blood, and the stench was... indescribable... I'd never smelled anything like it in my life, at least, not until I was older. What about you?"

Suddenly, Nellas felt very small.

"I... I heard about it. From a distance. I watched them march off to fight, but I chose to stay behind, and continue my studies. I feel ashamed. What would my parents say, were they here to see? That I didn't go and fight the enemy that took them from me?"

She felt his hand on hers.

"They would be proud of you, and happy that you lived. When my father returned, each time I pressed him for tales of battle, and at times he would even open his mouth, as if to begin, but he never did. When the war ended, he spoke no more of it, but I was fascinated. I had to know. So when the king's men came to press young men into service, I did not hide my face, as my father always told me. Even after Sauron was defeated, orcs still threatened our lands. Killing them was like cutting the weeds, it had to be done every year, or we would be overrun. And yet... killing them was not like cutting weeds. Not at all..."

She felt his hand slip away, and his face was suddenly far away. It was a look he wore often, when he thought she was elsewhere.

"They were disorganized. They had been fed by the black hand for so long, they had lost their skill at woodcraft and raided farms openly to sustain themselves. They had lost much of their equipment, their black armor and their cutting edges. We slaughtered them by the hundreds and the thousands, stacked their corpses and burned them."

His head turned back to meet her gaze.

"I expected to feel honor after it. I expected to feel the glory of defending my home and slaying my enemies, and yet... I didn't. I only felt dirty, and not even the roughest soap stone could scour that feeling from my skin."

"So you see..." he continued, sweeping a lock of her hair over her ear in that special way that always sent a tingle down her spine, "...you have nothing to be ashamed of, and that is why I love you."

The sound of those three words thrilled her. Enchanted her. She whispered them back to herself without thinking. _I love you._

"Yes," he said, smiling, "I love you Nellas. I love you because you're so much better than me. So much kinder, so much gentler. Do you remember Surad and Durus?"

The memory passed over the sunlight of their love like a swollen raincloud. Fit to burst, but not quite there. Saving it's rain for another pasture.

"How could I forget?"

"Imagine that I had ignored you. Imagine what would have happened if I hadn't heeded your words, and spared them? We would never have found Ferny."

That night, as she lay with his arm draped over her, and listened to the steady rasp of his breathing, she thought of him. The columns of soldiers marching past the forest on the Great East Road had been her only glimpse of man's martial nature, but now it was laid bare in front of her. It was so different, their attitude. They glorified the sword, whereas elves were taught to view it as it was: a tragic tool, born of a dire necessity. More pity than pride was afforded their warrior heroes, for they knew what burdens they must carry the rest of their long lives. How much harder must it be, she thought, to carry those burdens and be made to think of them as points of pride?

Her life had been long and peaceful. His had been short and violent. Yet as she felt his warm breath moisten her bare shoulder, she knew that the future bore them ever onwards, and it did not have to dwell on such things. In time they could pass them by, and let the past be the past.

Soon, she too fell asleep, and in the darkness the rings gleamed.

* * *

"It's quite large."

"Yes, but what is it _like_?" Nellas persisted.

They were sitting by the roadside, waiting for someone to come along. Elden had insisted she wear her woolen cap over her ears. Were it not for her shapely figure she could have passed for a boy with little difficulty. She had kept her hair cut short for many weeks now, and she was starting to see the benefits of the arrangement.

"I don't know-" Elden said, impatiently. "The last time I was there was almost a decade ago. Many of the dwellings were empty and there was still much repair work to be done. From what little I have heard, it has changed much in the intervening years. You may find it to your liking, and then again, you may not. It is one of those things you have to see to truly comprehend. Could you have described Lothlorien to me?"

"I suppose not..."

"So it is with this. Ah, here comes someone now. Let's hope he's feeling charitable."

A caravan of wagons was heading down the road, each with a fabric covering stretched tight over iron hoops. The wheels looked like they had been shattered and reforged at least a dozen times, and the horses were in even worse condition. Still, Nellas was not picky about transportation at this point. She was rather tired of walking, although she did not like to complain in front of Elden. He was one of those people that rarely griped except in humor, and she felt compelled to emulate his example. A sour-faced man with one eye stared down from the lead wagon as he reined in his beast of burden.

"What 'ave we 'ere then? You lost, traveler?"

"Not at all, old sport!" Elden beamed, turning on his charm. "In fact, we were just wondering how much money it would take to convince you to give us a lift to Gondor!"

"I see..." The man said, scratching his chin with a horrendously unclean fingernail. "Well, just throw a few coins my way, and a few more when we get off, and we have an accord."

"Excellent!" Elden said, handing the main a pair of gold coins.

His bushy eyebrows raised significantly at the sight of the money.

"That's a lot to be clinking around in the pockets o' a scruffy lad such as yourself..." He said, eyeballing the coins carefully, doubtless to determine whether they were real.

He must passed muster with him, because suddenly his smile was back.

"For this much, I hardly suppose I can start asking questions though, can I?""

"Strictly forbidden." Elden replied, cheerfully, and the man seemed to find this amusing rather than insulting, because he roared with laughter and stung his horse cruelly with the crop, causing Nellas to flinch.

"Forbidden! Ah, you cheeky blaggard! A man after me own heart! Forbidden- indeed! Jump in then!"

They ran around to the back of the cart which was rapidly gaining momentum and hopped up, Nellas hauling Elden in by one arm. They found a place to sit between the barrels that were lashed down with ragged ropes. After a minute or two of bouncing along in silence, the driver passed a large flask back to Elden, who accepted it with a word of thanks. The two of them proceeded to get sensationally drunk on whatever foul liquor was contained within, Elden out of habit, and Nellas out of boredom. The booze whirled around pleasantly in her head, and she realized that it must also be what was sloshing around in the barrels beside them, and what one or all of the convoy drivers were sipping on.

_What a strange way to travel. _She thought, and grinned.

Elden lit his pipe, and they watched the parade of traffic go by. Their caravan seemed to be traveling at a swifter pace than most others they passed. The longer they rode, the thicker it became, until the driver was forced to pull off the broken stone and into the grass to go round them. Carpet merchants, blacksmiths, farmers, pilgrims and even the occasional family, all crammed onto two or three horses.

There were patrols of Gondor's soldiers too. Men on horseback with sharp lances and the white tree emblazoned on their armor kept a careful watch. Groups of five were posted every few miles, usually occupying the highest ground they could. Whenever they passed them, Elden looked distinctly uncomfortable and grabbed at his wrist absentmindedly, where she knew the Mark of Mandos lay.

"I hope we don't run into any Rohirrim..." Elden muttered.

"Oh don't worry, there's been so much traffic since the war ended, they don't have time." The one-eyed man said, having apparently overheard him. "The only reason soldiers stop people these days is to exact a bribe."

The Ered Nimrais, known to men as the Whitehorn Mountains, grew larger as the road drew alongside them. It took the better part of the day for them to round the feet of these mighty peaks, during which time the nameless alcohol wore off, leaving nothing but a dull ache behind. Suddenly, the final ridge was behind them, and she saw the city.

Elden was right. It was large. Larger than anything she had ever seen. The sheer immensity of it took her breath away. It made Lothlorien seem almost quaint...

The city proper was seven tiers of solid stone, shaped over the course of centuries. Arrayed about the walls outside Minas Tirith were three roads, one leading west, one leading east, and one leading south, to Osgiliath. Crowded in between these roads, taking up almost all the available space between the river and the walls were hundreds and hundreds of shacks. They were constructed of anything and everything. Rotted wooden planks, timbers from ships and wagons that had been scrapped, scraps of iron, and even dirt. Within this sprawl a vast mass of humanity bustled, jostled, shouted, laughed and screamed. Market stalls lined the routes. Smoke rose from a thousand fires, most of it coming from Osgiliath.

She had never seen so many humans in her life. It was overwhelming, bewildering, and it didn't smell all that pleasant either. Their cart bumped along, but instead of taking a right towards Minas Tirith, they swung left, towards the ruins of Osgiliath. The remnants of the once proud city in the shadow of Gondor stuck up like jagged teeth or broken shards of bone hastily buried. The new arrivals had taken it upon themselves to clear the rubble from the streets, and to board up the places where Mordor's relentless siege engines had broken through the masonry. The variety of humanity on display here made the tavern back in the Chetwoods where they had run into Ferny look like a quaint country tavern. People without a single coin to their name squatted in the muck. Men who wore the title "bandit" as a badge of honor stared at the endless stream of wagons that rolled through with dubious eyes.

The one-eyed man pulled up hard on the reins, causing the horse to snort and champ at the bit.

"Well, this is your stop, I believe. You want to make some money, boy?"

"How so?" Elden asked, his ears pricking up.

"I'm sorry, we really must be going..." Nellas said, trying to drag Elden away, but he shrugged her off.

"Well, I was going to offer you a few coins to help unload, but you're already pretty well off, it seems. Pretty rich for a pair of travelers too."

"I'm not rich, I'm just a... well... an 'acquisitions expert', if you will." Elden said, one of those troubling grins on his face.

The one-eyed man returned it.

"Aye, well, if that is true you will always be able to find work with me, young master. My name is Onidas."

"Elden." Elden said, extending his hand. "I may take you up on that offer, but not today. We have to find lodging in the city before sundown."

"That would be a wise choice," the man replied, taking the proffered hand and shaking it firmly, "but I don't think you'll have any luck, even with a pocket full of gold. The lower levels are full to bursting, and Maximus won't allow any more into the top tiers."

"Thanks for the tip."

The one-eyed man tipped his hat to them and jumped down to help his men secure the wagons and unhitch their steeds.

"Who is Maximus?" Nellas asked as they turned and walked back towards the river crossing.

"The Steward of Gondor. He is in power until the king returns, rather like the Lord Regent in Edoras."

This time as they waded through the press of bodies, the squalor was more intimate. More real. How could people live like this? Perhaps they had no choice.

A young boy in the clothes of a street urchin matched their pace, jogging along beside her, his eyes imploring.

"Can you spare a coin to buy a bit of bread, my lady?"

Nellas immediately began to reach her left hand into her pocket but Elden grasped her hand quickly. The lad realized that he wasn't going to get a response in the affirmative and disappeared back into the press of bodies. Nellas looked round at Elden in shock and disbelief.

"What- what did you do that for?!"

"There are at least a dozen people watching us, and I bet no less than half of them are thieves or worse. We can't afford to draw attention to ourselves."

She opened her mouth to protest further, but she found she had no retort. What he said made perfect sense, and now that she took the time to observe their surroundings. For some reason, even though she understood the motive, it deeply troubled her.

As they walked down the lane, a strange feeling fell over her. She felt lighter somehow, as though she could see past, beyond, and through everything, to what ultimately lay behind. It was different though, than putting the ring on. Instead of a smoky veil drawn back, the world became translucent, and she could see clearly, a thousand leagues in any direction she chose. She cast her gaze to the east, where she thought she saw a great, dark door waiting to be thrown open. The faint snatches of a song were coming from that direction, unhindered by the shouting and stamping of the crowd around them. The ground, the mountains, the buildings, they all hardly seemed real anymore, compared to that music, that terribly sad yet terribly beautiful music... It seemed similar to a tune Elden had been humming for days.

Then she shook her head, and the feeling had passed.


End file.
